The Comeback King Saga
by ImJessieTR
Summary: Why can't Sarah just do as Jareth wants? Jareth has to face up to his issues while helping another King face HIS destiny. Crossover: Muppets, Fraggles, Sesame Street, Dark Crystal, Dinosaurs, Farscape.
1. Chapter 1

_The "Underground", as it's called in Labyrinth, consists of the world of Labyrinth (and Moraine, which is a neighboring kingdom found in the manga sequel). In this story, however, I'm also including the Gorg's Garden and to a certain extent Fraggle Rock, though it's more of a connection between the Underground and "Outer Space", aka: our world, which consists of the Muppets and Sesame Street and such. I'm also considering Grouchland and the Trash Kingdom as part of the Underground, since apparently Oscar the Grouch's trash can leads to another dimension or something as well. Basically, if it takes magic or plot convenience to get there (LOL), then it's a part of the Underground._

_**Author's Note: I do not own any of the characters here. Either Disney, the Hensons, Sesame Workshop, TokyoPop, David Bowie, and the many songwriters do. Eventually, I make up a name for the Queen of Trash since I got tired of calling her "Queen of Trash" the whole time. :D Also, please see my profile for links that might help explain some things.**_

Chapter 1

(Spring, 2008AD)

_The loss of the crown had been devastating, or so it seemed to his royal subjects, who grumbled and groused and bewailed their fate, for they were certain that stars would fall and fire would consume and famine would wither, leaving the entire universe destitute. The King of the Universe was destined to rule all for the benefit of everyone. And yet, seemingly on a whim, he had just thrown it away … or so it seemed to those who knew him, for they remained unaware that their constant needs had nearly broken his spirit. He had been exhausted from the harsh, nagging words of his court. The thought of having to rule such a wide expanse every single day made his stomach ache and his hands twitch and his head throb. And so, the King of the Universe had relinquished his royal duty._

_Now, one does not just throw away one's responsibilities and get away with it without a scratch. Those who abdicated were doomed to seek out that very crown which weighed so heavily upon the royal head…_

_The former King of the Universe wandered to and fro, forever without home or purpose. At the time, it seemed to suit him. He had never felt more liberated. And yet, as he was turned away from each and every land, he began to doubt his decision. The universe was one big disappointment after another: sometimes he barely kept warm in the glacial lands of the north, sometimes he felt as though he were fully baked under the hot and searing sun of the west, sometimes he nearly fainted from infection in the cesspools of the south, and sometimes he had to fight off endless enemies in the east. He knew only the comfort of his own mind, and that was waning by the century's end. He had been drifting and suffering such deep loneliness for a few centuries, though he had honestly lost track of time. Eventually, time ceased to have meaning at all. So, too, did other things: good food, his last remaining royal robe (worn to tatters through the centuries), companionship (of which he had none, as he had been known as selfish and strict, which endeared him to few) …_

_On one particular occasion, weary from a particularly bad run-in with impish fire elementals with detachable body parts who insisted on trying to eat him, the former King of the Universe slumped down next to a young tree atop a high hill, overlooking a fertile plain. He had grown tired of walking. He stared at the plain, filled with grasses of all kinds, flowers blooming in large groups, and bordered by a sparkling, winding, majestic river that shamed even the vast oceans._

_Perhaps, just perhaps, he might stick around for a few days… [The Legend of Sir Hubris]

* * *

_

A black-haired Caucasian middle-aged woman, with crow's feet in her eyes and a wide, sensitive grin, looked up from the stack of papers on her desk, which seemed to imitate the skyline of skyscrapers behind her through the large glass window that stretched across the entire wall. Her voice was gentle and cheerful. "This is great so far." She leaned back against her black leather chair. The woman wore a black suit with a light blue blouse underneath. Her office was located in a rather posh section of Manhattan, courtesy of years of Broadway success under her belt. It was filled with numerous brightly-colored posters advertising various shows throughout the years, including one with Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy on it, where they wore the sparkling purple tuxes they tended to favor for some unknown reason. She maintained her grin as she spoke with the thirty-eight year-old brunette, who herself had been busily climbing the entertainment ladder after a stint teaching college drama students. "It's a good thing your stories are proven cash cows … you tend to like re-using themes a lot," she noted, chuckling.

The other woman shrugged, returning the smile. The producer had given her her big break shortly after 2001, which she had needed due to her apartment complex being torn down during the reconstruction following the World Trade Center incident. They found themselves to have the same taste in genres and hobbies. "Hey, we've seen a huge resurgence in fairytale crap over the last decade or so," she informed the woman across the sleek desk. "RPGs are getting some respect, we've got the nostalgic 80s flavor … this has the potential to rival _Cats_," she said with a little more enthusiasm, her hands waving in circles to show how big it could become.

The older woman frowned, though she quickly tried to regain her normally cheerful composure. Broadway life could easily wear one down if one didn't try to stay grounded and balanced. "Sarah, do you think your work is 'crap'? I mean, if you're starting to feel a need to move on, let's get those feelings out in the air now, shall we?"

Sarah shrugged, looking at the floor, trying to avoid her friend and business partner's eyes. She hesitated to answer. She really didn't want to say the words out loud, remembering what problems that could cause. When she was in her mid-teens, she had obsessed over fairy tales and theater, to the point of collecting every souvenir and cheap merchandise she could find. One day she let loose with a wish to the Goblin King, a character from one of her play books.

That didn't turn out too well. An owl came into her parents' … her _father's_ room … and transformed into a living version of a statuette resting on the dresser in _her_ room. He took her infant half-brother to his mystical castle in the center of an ever-changing labyrinth. Ever since, she'd had a profound respect for the power of language.

"I feel it's personal, Jenny," she exclaimed strongly. It wasn't that she was afraid of losing the job … Jenny wasn't like that … but there were, more _private_ reasons to think her statements thoroughly before stating them, reasons that even she herself sometimes didn't want to admit. "This isn't just about capitalizing on the retro thing … some stories _need_ to get told. I've had a great time writing for you, but there are some things … I dunno, Jen," she continued, sighing, her voice becoming more and more subdued, "I just … regret …"

* * *

The leather-bound, gold-embossed book slammed shut with the help of large, brown furry hands, dust and miniscule bits of paper creating a small cloud, and was tossed over the right shoulder, making some strands of thick brown hair on the side of the even larger head sway.

"Whoa!" a female voice screamed out as the book raced past her as she sat on the big lug's shoulder. The googly-eyed, yellow-orange creature with the red-orange frizzy pigtails tied with dark red ribbons and the bright red turtleneck sweater ducked out of the way just in time, hanging onto some body hair on the reader's back, her knuckles paling and her feet desperately trying to take hold of _something_. She had wanted to get a better view of the story, but her adventurous side tended to put her in situations that, in hindsight, may not have been the wisest.

The brown furry giant looked over to the right and shrugged, nearly sending the female creature flying again. "Sowwy, Red," he told her casually, reaching back to help her up. His voice was smooth and deep, though his pronunciation still left a little to be desired. Whether it was the shape of his nose or the plants in the garden or even something mysterious and unknown, no one knew why the creature had that particular accent.

Red, a Fraggle who made her home in Fraggle Rock, a large cave system that connected at least two worlds, maybe more, glared at the humongous guy – though that was like staring down a hairy mountain. However, she shook her head and sighed, trying to hide her irritation in her voice, "No, it's okay, Junior. I think I'll live."

Junior smiled. "Gweat!" he exclaimed, laughing, his belly heaving up and down with each guffaw. Junior was a Gorg. Think a brown shaggy King Kong but with a light brown bulbous nose with a loose khaki jacket, no pants, and spiked brown leather boots and no pressing girl problems.

"For now," Red griped under her breath.

"When did you start reading _The Legends of Sir Hubris_ again, Junior?" a high-pitched male gravelly voice asked devotedly from the ground where other Fraggles had gathered to hear some Gorg tales at the edge of the radish garden near the tool shed. Each radish, as well as their leafy tops, was roughly the size of a Fraggle. In fact, to a Fraggle, the Gorg garden was a veritable paradise of unending food, since one vegetable or fruit could last them a couple of days.

Junior shrugged again as he faced Wembley, a green-yellow Fraggle with a tussle of almost blond hair and a banana-tree shirt, which was never buttoned all the way up, for that would have required too much focus and concentration.

"Watch it," Red cried out angrily, hanging onto Junior's shoulder with a death-grip, "you dunderheaded…"

"RED!" a teeny male voice with an occasional Canadian accent barked from below. Red had agreed to stop calling Junior a lummox, which was an insult regarding his intelligence (or lack thereof) … but Red's mouth almost always worked faster than Red's brain.

"It's okay, Gobo," Junior wistfully told the explorer Fraggle with the orange skin, purple hair, orange and yellow-striped long-sleeved shirt and a brown vest. He looked over at Red and tried to keep his voice down, since at that proximity, Gorg voices could rival avalanches, "Sowwy, Red … you want down?" Junior had only lived with his immediate family and never really had the opportunity to make friends. There had been no nearby Gorgs, and Fraggles had, for decades, been considered alternately garden pests and random "pets" for Junior. Only after a strange incident just before he was to be crowned as King of the Universe, did Junior start seeing Fraggles as _friends_. Though he had partnered with them before, it never occurred to him that they could be anything more than mere playful objects until he had learned to see life in an entirely new way. Now that Junior had denied his kingship, he felt free to play and laugh all day, even though it was sometimes frustrating since they were so much smaller than him.

Before she could answer, Gobo interjected. "What she _really _wants is to know why you started reading from those legends again!" He frowned at Red, craning his neck to see her. Fraggles were roughly two-feet tall, give or take, so having conversations with two-story Gorgs could sometimes leave them with a stiff neck.

Wembley, standing next to Gobo, shrugged and looked at the ground. "Actually, uh, I thought _I_ was the one who wanted to know."

Gobo glanced over at his friend. "And Red wants to hear it too … _don't you, Red_?" he asked in that not-so-subtle tone he used when Red, he felt, was coming on too strong.

"Well, I …" Junior began.

"Juuuunnniiiooorrrrr," sang a melodious female voice from within the Gorg's castle. At the front door appeared a lavender Gorg with a sharply upturned nose and a tremendous amount of blonde hair pulled up with a few pins, which were each the size of a tall Fraggle. She wore an ivory-colored flowing gown, accented with purple and yellow layers, and white lace fingerless gloves. She beckoned for Junior. "Come inside, sweetie-kins … I need you to try on some new clothes I'm sewing for your Five-hundred party," she said happily.

"Five-hundred party?" Red, Gobo, and Wembley asked in unison.

Junior began to rise, but remembered Red and gently put her down before standing. He glanced at the female Gorg. "But Maaaaa," he whined to his mother, "dat's tree ye-uhs away!"

Ma Gorg shook her finger at her son. "If you want it to look good I need to start on it now, Favorite Son and Former King of the Universe," she lectured.

"But you just _made_ dis shirt for me a hunnahd ye-uhs ago!" Junior pleaded. He didn't mind helping his Ma with cooking, since he enjoyed finding uses for the vegetables he grew, but fashion preparation could take a decade or more. Junior didn't want to die of old age waiting for his mother to finish nitpicking his wardrobe. Gorgs had been known to live to be a couple thousand years old, but nothing sped up (or slowed down) time like his mother. He picked up an edge of his shirt and sniffed it deeply. He looked back at Ma. "Besides … it's not even duhty yet!"

Ma Gorg frowned, slapping her hand on the bottom half of the door. "You _know_ how I get when you start sounding like your Father," she warned, almost growling.

"And what do I sound like, dear?" yelled a gravelly aged voice from deep within the castle.

Ma Gorg's eyes widened and she turned toward the voice of her husband, who had been resting more … well, _much_ more ever since Junior had forsaken the crown. "Like a brisk summer wind, Oh Gorgeous Husband of Mine," she laughed nervously. "All of nature rejoices when you open your mouth!" She turned back towards Junior, who had made little progress towards the castle. "Although sometimes they appreciate when it's shut," she mumbled quietly. She looked at Junior expectantly. He had _better_ not need another … motherly suggestion, she thought to herself.

Ma Gorg could easily be frustrated with both her husband and her son. They both felt idleness and play were a right, not a privilege. Still…

_Around what year humans would call 1474AD, a young Gorg princess, followed by a small entourage carrying her luggage, marched toward a castle that shimmered in the sunlight. Before she entered the castle, however, she stopped by a nearby well and started to drink. Her mother, Queen Esmerelda of the Western Gorg Kingdom, had sent her there to find a husband. She had been walking for days. She was glad to be finally in the Eastern Gorg Kingdom, though her entourage, tasked with transporting her ample luggage, was SLIGHTLY more relieved than her._

_She heard a strange noise from behind a large thick tree that nearly was the same diameter as an average Gorg. Upon investigation, she found a slumbering sapphire-blue young male Gorg, wearing only some shorts made of heavy fabric. She flicked some water on him and jumped back, amused, when he shot up several feet in the air. He glanced at her in shock, his eyes widening a little and his mouth slack. He wiped the water droplets off his face._

_When she giggled at the sight, the young male Gorg blushed. He approached her and she coyly kept backing up so he would have to give chase. By the time she bumped into a large rock pillar made of several gray boulders, he had taken her hand and kissed her._

"_Whatever did you do that for?" she asked._

"_You're the female for me," he said eagerly in a slightly husky voice. "I never want to go through that again. Be my wife."_

_The Gorg Princess blushed and held her hand to her face to shield her reddening cheeks from him. "Your … ROMANTIC … sensibilities notwithstanding, I'm afraid I must save myself for the handsome young Gorg Prince who lives in that castle," she told him, pointing to the castle with a smile._

_The male Gorg grinned widely. "Why, have no fear, my lavender angel," he announced proudly, "for thou dost see the one and true Gorg King." He lowered his head. "My Pa still likes to hang around, of course, but for two-hundred and twenty-nine years, I've ruled the roost." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, chuckling. "That is, if you don't mind marrying a King, instead."_

Junior sighed, defeated. He turned to his Fraggle friends. "I guess I can't avoid my destiny, Fwaggles," he noted sadly. "See you whenevah I see you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I still don't own anything, even the nod to the Dark Crystal. The Sir Hubris portions aren't really from the Fraggle Rock episode, of course, but the little we hear from Ma Gorg is the inspiration for this expanded tale.**

Chapter 2

(Summer, 2008AD)

_The proud former King of the Universe had grown weary of wandering. His feet were blistered, his skin dry, and his robes needed washing. However, he could not admit to any desire to reclaim his supposedly rightful place. Of what use had the King been? Despite his power, only the most loyal had really listened to him. Most beings just went ahead and did whatever they wanted to do anyway. Everyone had their own lives, their own dreams, their own loves. Those were things he could never REALLY control, at least not without exhausting himself to the point of death … which was a hard thing to fathom, for such a long-lived being. Although he had had a court, he had always felt completely alone. No one had been there to share in his joys and sorrows intimately._

_Unbeknownst to the former King, as he sat atop a large hill overlooking a flowering plain, a small oval rustic ship floated serenely behind the clouds. It had acquired quite a bit of debris as it traveled through the "true" universe, crossing galaxies with ease thanks to the random wormhole here and there. Inside the ship, a pale grey entity, shriveled with age, coughed and wheezed through its mouth. It didn't appear to have a nose. It had long spindly fingers which tapped at a console above the reclined soft chair upon which the being rested. On the floor by the chair was a spiky crown reminiscent of thin branches of bleached coral, as well as a pile of silvery robes._

_Millennia ago, a great crisis had nearly consumed its world. All peace and light in the universe would have been lost, but for the heroics of the supposedly last of a small species, bipedal mammals called gelflings. Hope had been restored, and all was assumed to have been made right again. However, a catastrophe on a distant planet compelled this creature to seek out survivors and, maybe, set things right again. Ever since his homeworld had been saved, he felt a pressing urge to prevent the same doom that nearly cost them all their lives from happening to others. And yet, by the time the ship arrived, it was surely too late, for no evidence of life could be found among the dominant species of the planet. All that was left were some mammalian species and some marine life. They had hidden in caves during the catastrophe. It was difficult to communicate with such primitive creatures, but apparently, some years before the freezing started, as the world began to die, a new type of creature had been born … a creature born of hope with the unrealized potential to accomplish that which this entity had longed for. The dominant species had been fighting over resources and the innocence of a child of that species revealed the existence of this new type of creature._

_So the entity had left, confidently knowing that life would begin anew. However, as time passed, its mind began to tear asunder. It knew that darkness again threatened a world, and it turned out to be the very one it had hoped to save millions of years ago. Parts of that world were dying, darkness creeping in and siphoning the very essence of beings, leaving them vulnerable to complete destruction._

_As two had become one on its homeworld, so too must two join forces to stop the darkness on this one. Otherwise, this planet would yet again face the threat of utter extinction. And, as usual, a primitive might have to risk his or her life to help the two powers unite… [Legends of Sir Hubris]  
_

* * *

Jenny pitched the show's major concepts as best she could via video conference: what had started out to be a simple tale of a Tolkien-esque quest for a king had evolved into something far grander. She forwarded some of her business partners detailed sketches she had drawn up. The identity of the King of the Universe was to be shrouded in mystery. He would not be revealed until the character had returned to his rightful role. Out of the blue, Sarah had added some sci-fi elements as well ("The more geeks we draw in, the better," she had said jokingly). The general concept would be not only to provide escapist fantasy fare, but to connect various genres together. If written well, the themes would not get all muddled up and confuse the audience (or the critics). So far, most of those partners had expressed delight in the concept, but distrust of the economic feasibility, since it seemed rather heavy on special effects, such as pyrotechnics, video projection, etc. One partner, however, a thin pale woman with short reddish-brown hair, had the most to criticize. She had been antsy throughout the entire presentation, so Jenny knew what was coming….

"Well, I, for one, will _not_ be sinking more money than I already am into the theater racket," the woman on the screen griped sourly. "It's bad enough I had to adopt your old Broadway has-beens, Miss Evangelos," she continued, jabbing her index finger angrily at the camera.

"Well, _I_, for one," Jenny shot back testily, "would hope that _certain_ accounting processes made by _certain_ investors could be well backed-up should the spreadsheets be checked more _closely_." She paused, grimacing. "And, quite frankly, losing money on a property just shows bad leadership and business acumen. Properties are like plants: if you don't water it, it shrivels up."

"How _dare_ you lecture _me_?" the woman on the screen scoffed. "I've been in the investing business for quite awhile --."

Jenny smiled. "At least _I_ can turn a profit with even the flimsiest of scripts, Ms. Bitterman," she replied. "And this is not a flimsy plot ... it could be _epic_. All you have to do is believe in it." She paused. "Besides, I didn't have to rely on a lucky death to get where _I_ am today." She pointed to herself. "My _skills_ put me on top, not my --."

"Okay," a male investor on another screen blurted out nervously. "We get it. You two don't get along."

"More of that 'dream' crap," Ms. Bitterman grumbled, looking away from the camera. "Why can't anyone join the twenty-first century?" she continued to herself, though loud enough for the others to hear. "Why must some people refuse to let go of seventies hippie nonsense?" She finally stared straight ahead, glaring into the camera. "You'll need to show me the money, baby girl. Let me know how that fairy-tale ending works out for ya."

Jenny clicked off Ms. Bitterman's feed. Sighing, Jenny leaned back in her chair. She glanced at the other investors. "Is there anyone _else_ afraid to put their money where their mouths are?" she asked. "We didn't get to where we are by investing in the ordinary. Mr. Crawford and I, you are well aware, took a veritable talking zoo and turned their play into a headliner for _five years_. A play filled with a random assortment of animals managed to get nominated for a _Tony_." She inhaled deeply, clasping her hands together tightly. "I know what _I'm_ doing. You have a choice: attach your names to success or to obscurity."

* * *

A gray long-nosed rat-like creature screamed out in terror, jumping up nearly five feet off the trash-covered ground where he had been sleeping. He and his friend had barely had enough sleep all day, since Marjory had had them doing chores all day _and_ the Gorgs had been arguing about the most becoming seams for hours.

"What is it?" asked his friend, a pinkish rat-like creature. His voice was higher-pitched than the gray one, but they both had the same type of street-smart accent. After a pause, the pink one asked again, "Huh? What is it, Gunge? Lay ovah anudder pin cushion again?"

Gunge trembled, shaking his head. "Uh-uh, Philo," he replied. "It was a nightmare … I dreamt I was swallowed whole by a monster dat made da Gorgs look like fuzzy bunnies." He whimpered. "It had great big horns, green scaly skin, and jaws bigger dan dat well ovah dere," he continued, pointing toward the well which led to the Fraggle pond in the Great Hall, the central cave of Fraggle Rock. "It was scarier dan Wandah McMooch!"

"Boy, dat's rough," Philo replied sympathetically. He soon smirked, however. "Bet you gave him indigestion, though, right, buddy?" He began to snicker.

Gunge nodded. "Yeah, yeah … just you keep laughin', Philo. You ain't exactly a deodorant spokesrat yourself, y'know…" He was going to continue berating his teasing friend when the ground underneath them began to shift, the trash piling up and forming a pointy head with a banana peel for a head decoration and two large hands that melted seamlessly into the pile of trash. Her personality was certainly more pleasant (in general) than her smell, though that depended on what had been thrown on her each day.

It spoke with a raspy female voice. "Boys, boys … are you having bad dreams _again_?"

Philo pointed to Gunge. "It's all Gunge's fault, Marjory," he exclaimed, trying to stifle a yawn. "He OD'd on some rotten carrot cake and now we all have to suffer," he continued, feigning melodramatic suffering.

"Hm," Marjory said, stroking her "chin" (what little there was) as the two rat-like creatures continued to trade insults at one another. She finally picked both up with each hand and held them apart. "Now listen, boys," she said sympathetically, "loose ends are getting tied up all over the universe. It's perfectly normal for you to be suffering from its effects, especially since you live so close to me."

The two looked at each other, then at her. "So, dis is all _your_ fault?" they asked in shocked unison.

Marjory dropped them both in a huff. She leaned back as far as she could to "distance" herself from them, crossing her arms in indignation. Music started to play, with a kind of jazz feel to it, reminiscent of _I've Seen Troubles_:

_Da universe … is made of so many t'ings,_

_Gorgs and Fraggles, boys, share friendly company…_

"Uh," Philo interrupted, "Marjory? It's eleven o'clock at night … can we pick dis up some udder time … _please_?"

"No!" she shouted, slapping her hand on Philo's back. She shook a finger at him. "Don't interrupt me again … or I'll stop reading you bedtime stories!" She started singing again as Philo and Gunge gulped. The only way they'd get back to sleep is if they played along. Marjory was definitely in one of her "oracle-y" moods again.

_But in other places hence, the pleasure's nearly being spent …_

_That means troubles, that means pain, that means woe, woe, woe …_

_That means troubles, that means pain, that means woe, woe, woe…_

_The Rock is light-filled, Goombah soup spilled,_

_But beyond the Swamp lie crowns so lon-el-ly (_Philo & Gunge: _lon-el-ly)…_

_But in times of trial and stress, we need a king for all dis mess,_

_That means troubles, that means pain, that means woe, woe, woe…_

_That means troubles, that means pain, that means woe, woe, woe…_

And on the last note, Marjory slipped back quietly into an inanimate trash heap, while her two companions shrugged and nodded off themselves…


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I'm hoping this ruler thing works better for readability. And I still don't own any of the characters throughout this whole fic. I'm not going to repeat it over and over.**

Chapter 3

(Fall, 2009)

_The Former King of the Universe had made for himself a pleasant cottage in the heart of the flowering plain. The last thing he wanted was to build a castle, for kingship had never brought him joy. Months had passed and he had become more familiar with the terrain. The sparkling river stretched far to a majestic lake, guarded by a newly-crowned queen, whose silver hair matched the light bouncing off the water. He had barely set foot on the lake's edge, his feet starting to dampen from the moisture on the shore, when an elegant female form slowly rose from the water, shining drops falling from her graceful figure, clothed only with a thin gown that left little to the imagination. Her curvaceous form reminded him of breaking waves._

_The female smiled and stretched out her elegantly tapered hand. Steam rose from her upturned palm, forming a chalice made of highly polished silver, engraved with lines suggesting breaking waves. "Quench thy thirst, Traveler," she said in sultry tones. "Take off thy ravaged robes and let the sun bring life to a long-hidden visage."_

"_What is your name?" the former King asked bluntly, his own voice deep and sensuous._

_The queen laughed. "You're not much for small talk, are you, Traveler?" She lowered her head while keeping her bright sharp eyes upon this new arrival. "Do not rebuff my offer so easily … I merely wish to be hospitable."_

_The hooded former King kept his smirk hidden. She certainly thought much of herself, he thought. He wondered if she always seduced weary visitors. She reminded him, in fact, of the sirens of old, who sang their way to men's hearts, only to devour them at their leisure. "Those that know me know me as Sir Hubris."_

_The queen's face quickly became tense, her eyes squinting, her brows furrowing deeply. "Don't LIE to me," she hissed. She had made it a point to know the past of "Sir Hubris", of course. Her kingdom excelled in surveillance and information trading. The knowledge that he had been the King of the Universe, a being powerful enough to go toe-to-toe against any creature, fascinated her … and enchanted her. Like a flooding river, she wanted to broaden her territory and she felt that it was possible (and almost fool-proof) IF he could be persuaded to share his power._

_The hooded figure shrugged. "What part of my statement was untruthful?"_

_The two continued trading strategic barbs, but both felt as the moon rose gently as a pale peach-colored sphere in the sky that destiny had desired them joined. Coming together, they held hands, sitting on the lake shore, staring at the full moon, which cast a soft glow upon them. The queen, caressing Sir Hubris' hand, took a sip from the chalice and offered it to her new companion. He gently took the chalice and drank from it, careful not to let his hood reveal his face. With the last sip, he felt a surge of power and intoxication … all he wanted was to unite with the queen and begin a powerful family that would outlive the heavens. He began to stroke her hair … but suddenly, he jumped up and shook his head violently, backing away from the queen, who was trying very hard to hide her shock and disappointment. He glared at her, though she could not see his face. She had INTOXICATED him. He didn't think it possible. He had not drunk but a few sips … and he was certain centuries on the road had not made him so vulnerable. It had to be enchanted. Was it not but water? He had felt, for a brief moment, as though nothing else in the universe mattered because he was one with her on a cellular level. His thoughts had become her thoughts and vice versa. It was a level of intimacy for which he had not been prepared nor particularly desirous. He vowed to himself that, should he ever start to fall for someone, he would break it off if she ever felt overwhelmed. He wanted love and companionship … but not that way. He wanted to deserve it._

_Her eyes widened slightly, but a smirk she could not hide for long. She rose gently from the ground and silently commanded the chalice to become steam once more which she then absorbed into her palm. "Commendations are in order, 'Sir Hubris.' Your arrogance and your willpower are matched equally by only my own." She paused, crossing her arms. "It IS a compliment," she assured him. [Legends of Sir Hubris]  
_

* * *

Jenny Evangelos had decided, with the help of her business partners, to take things slowly, to let the rich plot of Sarah William's latest show pitch grow. It had been a year and a half since Sarah first came up with the idea and the projected opening of the show was to be April of 2011. Already they had started some minor projects, which would serve to set up the characters and the background story. They were still waiting on some copyright and royalty issues from one of Sarah's favorite childhood playwrights, from whose tale of royal love and betrayal this "elaboration" would spring.

As the fall season wore on, Jenny found herself reminiscing about her father, who had lived his entire life always just out of reach of material wealth, even after he had come to America from Greece. When the time had come for him to tell her goodbye, he took her by the hand in his sparse but warmly decorated bedroom and smiled that warm fatherly smile. "Jenny," he said in a gruff voice, "is good for dreams, yes? Is magic, is hope, is … is not money." He sighed, his hand starting to slip. "Peoples is peoples. Some work, some play." He paused for a couple of moments. "Take frog. Has good dream. Bring together many peoples. Is loyalty. Is friendship. Is _love_. No regret dream, Jenny. Your papa … he … no … reg…"

Struggling to keep back the tears as she flipped through some catalogs as she reclined on a small sofa in a modest apartment, her phone rang. Noting the area code on her cell display, she sniffed and wiped her eyes and flipped open the cell. "Jenny," she began, trying to hide the wavering in her voice.

On the other end was a voice that reminded one of Kermit the Frog's, but much deeper and more even in tone. "Hi, sweetie … look, are you still coming to Thanksgiving?"

Jenny shrugged. "It's … still on my calendar, Samson." Awhile back, in the mid-nineties, a rather tall pig, suffering a mid-life crisis, had come to Jenny all the way from Hollywood. His partner had suggested trying Broadway, but the pig was more interested in flirting and avoiding employment. At some point, the subject of children came up. No one knew, of course, but Jenny had not been able to take care of her newborn son at that time, not with the death of her father still hanging over her head like an anvil ready to crush her. Rather than emotionally neglect him, she gave him up for adoption.

A long pause. "You know, sweetie," the male voice noted softly, "you know you can always talk to us … well, me, anyway, right? Bobby is still a smidge self-absorbed at … the moment."

"How's Foster?"

Another long pause. "Uh-huh. If you wanted to change the subject, all you had to do was ask. He's … no, stop it!" he barked to someone else in the room. "Sorry 'bout that, hon … you know those costumes you mailed us will get a lot of … uh … exercise this Halloween."

"Foster?"

"Right! Right! Foster … he, uh, he's doing well in high school. We got that whole 'algebra' thing worked out, so he doesn't have that problem anymore. For God's sake, I'm on the _phone_ … with _Jenny_ … from _Manhattan_ …" His voice began to strain with irritation. "Broadway producer? Costume … yes, _those_ costumes …" Jenny heard a loud thump. "Sorry, sweetie, I'll let you go, okay? Everyone's just fine here … come out to California when you can, okay? Bye." Click.

Jenny sighed. Another ring made her roll her eyes, though this time the area code was local.

"Jenny? Hi, this is Kermit the Frog," announced the speaker on the other end of the line.

Jenny smiled. She and Kermit had maintained a friendship well after _Manhattan Melodies_, their first big hit on Broadway back in the eighties. "Hey, Kermit! How are ya?"

"Oh, I'm fine, I guess. Your shows goin' okay?"

It was like magic. Whenever Kermit talked to her, her worries just lifted up and floated away. "Yeah, me and Ms. Williams are fleshing out a really big one that should go up in 2011. Is Ms. Bitterman still causing problems?"

"Uh…" he stalled, clearing his throat.

"Kermit, I deal with her on nearly a daily basis. If you want, I can still put the squeeze on her…"

"Jenny, I told you I'll take care of it," Kermit replied sharply. "I'm not going to let you treat me like I'm two hops away from a soup kitchen."

Jenny paused, gulping. "I … I didn't mean to offend you, Kermit," she answered in a more submissive tone. "I just want to help."

Kermit sighed. "I know, Jenny, I know. It's just … it's _our_ dream, y'know? Sink or swim." He paused. "I'm a frog, Jenny … swimming has always been a natural talent of mine, if I do say so myself," he continued, trying to sound more cheerful.

Jenny smiled. "Never forget, Kermit, that the rest of the world is part of that dream, too. You helped bring us together. We're all one big family now."

Kermit chuckled. "I don't think I'll convince the IRS that I'm Head of Household with six billion dependents…"

Jenny laughed, leaning back against the sofa. "Yeah … can you imagine the deductions they'd have to dish out?"

Kermit joined the laughter. "Haha, yeah …" He laughed a little while longer. Kermit never liked feeling like someone's Inspiration … but he was happy to cheer her up, since this time of year was particularly hard on her. "Listen, I know you're going to California for Thanksgiving and that you're really busy with Broadway and everything … but is there still a chance I can persuade you and Ms. Williams to show up at our annual Christmas party? It would really mean a lot for you to come this year."

"Who's the guest celebrity?"

"Bowie, actually," Kermit replied readily. He was rather proud of himself. They hadn't had a star like that in a few years.

Jenny groaned teasingly. "Oh, Kermit, I don't know if Sarah's going to agree to come. For some strange reason, he creeps her out."

Kermit paused in shock. "We have monsters and stuff walking around and she's afraid of a _rock star_?"

Jenny shrugged, smiling. "Beats me, why, Kermit." Her voice slipped into greater seriousness. "But Sarah's got some private issues with her family right now. For whatever reason, maybe bringing her into a chaotic party isn't the right decision."

Kermit responded, "Maybe … but Sweetums is really good about winning over inhibited minds. He'll probably have her dancing in a mosh pit by night's end."

Jenny gasped, her eyes nearly bursting out of her head. "You have a _mosh pit_ now?" Wow … where had _she_ been? She had never thought that little theater could hold something like that. That kind of thing would probably keep the fire department busy, she laughed to herself.

Kermit chuckled. "Well, by the time the party gets done with the theater, I'm sure we'll end up with one." He paused. "Look, I have to go … Homeland Security wants to talk to Crazy Harry again. _Please_ say you'll come."

"I'll do my best, Kermit."

* * *

The leaves had turned red and gold in the Gorg's garden, while stiff cold breezes became more frequent. Deep inside the castle lay Pa Gorg, a dusty blue Gorg with a balding head, a beard and squinty eyes. Despite his wife's protests, he could not bring himself to get out of bed. He barely turned over when there was a knock on the door.

"Daddy?" It was Junior. Pa groaned. Junior bounded in like a human child might to announce Christmas morning and shook his resting father. "Daddy, get up, alweady! Ma wants you to pwepa-yuh for my Five-hundred party!"

"I'm not going!" Pa shouted, stubbornly clenching onto the blankets. "Now leave me alone, Junior … go sing songs with some Fraggles or something and leave your old man to die peacefully, okay?"

There was a long pause. "Daddy," Junior chastised him, "you're _not_ dying. You're bittuh, _dat's_ what you are."

Pa sat up and shoved Junior away from the bed. "You're darn tootin' right I'm bitter!" he shouted angrily. "I used to have a purpose! I used to have goals!" He started to sob. "I used to have a shiny crown and sacred Gorg tradition behind me!"

Junior cocked an eyebrow. "Pa … now we can make our _own_ twaditions. We nevah wuled anything but our own gahden … now we have _fwiends_."

Pa grunted. "_You_ have friends, Junior. A King was supposed to rule his subjects … and I _know_ we didn't have real subjects … but that's not the point! Having that crown meant I could do whatever I wanted to do without anyone naggin' me all the time!"

Junior crossed his arms. His voice still betrayed smug disbelief. "You do dat _now_, Pa … and Ma …" he continued, hushing his voice so his mother wouldn't hear "… _still_ nags."

"I _heard_ that!" Ma yelled from the kitchen. Both Pa and Junior shuddered instinctively.

Pa stared at the covers. He couldn't understand why everyone thought he was wrong. Why would Junior take the care-free advice of Fraggles over centuries of sacred Gorg tradition? Sure, that was around a quarter-century ago, but Pa had never felt completely satisfied with Junior's decision. After all, that "shadow" had helped Junior learn to play the Royal Kazoo … something only a great Gorg King could do. What was the point of the "shadow" singing the praises of a great Gorg King when Junior was just going to sabotage the whole affair? And for what? So he could be friends with Fraggles? He could have done that _with_ the royal crown upon his head! He looked up at Junior. "You go do whatever your mother tells you, Junior … I'll be up shortly," he said, defeated.

"You pwomise?"

"Yes, I promise," Pa answered in an irritated tone. When Junior left Pa's bedroom, Pa leaned back against the headboard and sighed. There was only _one_ Fraggle in all of Fraggle-dom Pa ever felt any kind of connection with … that little light blue one with the red hair and the brown cap. This particular Fraggle tended to think about impending doom, even when his Fraggle cohorts believed whole-heartedly in peace and love and all that care-free nonsense. Nine years ago, after a particularly horrible storm that nearly blew all the neighboring swamp waters into the Gorg's garden, that Fraggle had professed a belief that something terrible was still going to happen. Pa believed it. The last time the water supply was in danger, it was the fault of those creatures from Outer Space, as the Fraggles called it. Pa seemed to see what none of his family had seen … that a terrible magic caused the storm.

He got up, grunting as he stood, and stretched. He shuffled over to a dresser Junior had made for his parents, and began to sift through the drawers, looking for a small black orb … a royal jewel entrusted to a Gorg King by Sir Hubris himself…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

(Spring, 2010AD)

_All across the lands the goblins ran amok. The short ones tunneled under people's houses, the large ones stomped flat much needed crops, the nice ones short-sheeted bed linens and put buckets full of tar on top of doors, the mean ones randomly fired upon the poor unsuspecting peasantry, the dumb ones messed up blueprints, and the REALLY dumb ones just sat in the middle of roads whether or not they ran the risk of getting run over by carts. All was chaos._

_At the bottom of a lonely hill, near the cottage of the former King of the Universe, Sir Hubris, an aged gray being lay dying. He had tried to hide the internal schisms of his mind, but he found himself failing. Rather than let the universe once more know the greed and selfishness of a Skeksis, which had been an avian/reptilian-like creature with a gnarled beak and craggly teeth and dark skin, the dying UrSkek decided it was time to give life by using his. Upon his last breath, the body disappeared into thin air. Moments later, some yards away, a young man with a large nose and a thin black mustache rose in the field, squinting in the early daylight. He saw the grasses, he saw the flowers, he … he saw the hole to his right. He cautiously crawled over to the entrance and peered inside. A shadow alerted him. He looked up to find a bright red bird flapping haphazardly towards him._

"_Look out below!" it cried in a trilling high-pitched voice. It landed square upon the young man's head, instinctively wrapping abdominal flaps of skin around the young man's face. Its bill was sharp and the back of its head sported a wild plume of almost purple feathers. "Well, well then! What a great landing spot!"_

_The young man stood up, albeit in a wobbly fashion. The bird cried out in protest, as its skin had not completed its attachment. "Am I to be of two minds forever?" the young man pondered curiously._

_The bird tilted its head in confusion. "Don't be rude!" it retorted angrily. "Two heads are better than one!"_

"_Hm," the young man replied solemnly._

_The bird flapped its small wings. "Humph! Is that all you say? Put a little emotion into it! Like this," he said, imitating the young man's reply but raising and lowering its pitch melodiously. "There! Isn't that better?"_

_The young man sighed. He recalled something like a fractured memory, distant and impersonal … of doing that very thing in the past. However, this was truly the first day he could really remember. Perhaps they weren't memories at all…_

_Suddenly, those same notes were echoed deep within the hole. The sounds seemed to come from a kazoo-like instrument. After a few moments, a dusty red creature with googly eyes and half-closed eyelids and a sleek tail with a poofy orange end crawled out and smiled. "You sing, too?" it said in a tinny, hopeful voice. "I wish I could. I cannot go home until I find my own song." It stroked its "kazoo" wistfully._

_Before the young man could say anything, a cloaked figure ran towards them from the cottage, waving its arms frantically. "Run!" it yelled. When it caught up to them, it pointed in a circle. "Goblins are invading the area," a suave male voice noted. He nodded towards the young furry creature. "Take your pet and hide it – these goblin creatures will eat anything!" A subtle note of compassion was embedded in his urgent voice._

"_I'm not a pet!" the creature protested. "My name is…"_

"… _Minstrel," the young man interjected forcefully. He glanced down at the small being, smiling warmly, without a hint of the newcomer's panic. "Only the silent can sing." He knelt down, reached inside a back pocket, and dug out a small twin flute, with one green tube wrapping around another. He handed it to the creature. "With one note or with none, the goblins stop when the song is done."_

_Shouts and cries rose around them as throngs of goblins appeared, heading straight for the cottage. The cloaked figure removed his hood, revealing a narrow face, feathered blond hair that fell to his shoulders, and eyelids emphasized with strong black lines that stretched an inch from the eyes' edges. He stared at the young man and the tiny creature. "My name is Jareth, former King of the Universe. You MUST reach shelter!"_

_The young man smiled. The creature stared lovingly at his new flute and looked up at the robed figure. The creature, nicknamed Minstrel just a moment ago, widened his eyes and spoke, nodding, "We HAVE reached shelter." He brought the twin flute up to his lips and began to play an upbeat tune of short notes, which would later be used to soothe crying infants. After several bars, Minstrel lowered the flute and began to sing as the goblins started to reach them:_

_Now the goblins have arrived!_

_They thrived? They haven't found a home…_

_Goblins roam? They need a leader …_

_Feed her? Treat her!_

_Listen! The Song has not been tried!_

_As Minstrel sang, the flute magically continued the tune, making the goblins screech to a halt. They had never heard such a melody before, especially when they were on a rampage. Most beings just fled in terror. It was so peculiar to them that they burst out laughing. As they did so, Minstrel and the young man sang more melodiously as the flute continued to play itself:_

_We see them coming, fighting hard and having fun,_

_What can we do-oo-oo?_

_They're happy with their lot,_

_But why are they so blue-ue?_

_This is for you!_

_Jareth, taken aback, felt a wave of intense magic fill him, far stronger than what he had felt at the lake's edge with Mizumi. In fact, he hadn't felt this way since being King of the Universe, when he could shape reality to his whim. To think that a mere song could rejuvenate him in such a way was … well … unthinkable. He turned towards his cottage and raised his arms, feeling a swelling power rise up from the ground as though a volcano or a geyser was erupting. He tilted his head back, his spine arched with the ecstasy of it all, and watched as stone followed the musical magic from the ground and started forming structures. As they assembled themselves, Jareth could feel that the rocks in this area were particularly responsive to certain musical tones. He managed to open his eyes and saw faint glittering on the rocks and dirt beneath him. He had never noticed it before. He couldn't really form a coherent thought, either … all he could do was respond viscerally to the power flowing through him._

_What kind of city do you need?_

_Tiny towns_

_Might give you all frowns,_

_Make it kinda big,_

_Then you can sing,_

_Dance magic, dance (dance magic, dance)_

_Dance magic, dance (dance magic, dance)_

_Goblin magic you can see…_

_Jump magic, jump (jump magic, jump)_

_Jump magic, jump (jump magic, jump)_

_Put that kingly spell on thee…_

_Lay down your arms, now you're free!_

_At the end of the song, a large castle rose majestically above a small hamlet that circled the royal structure of beige stone. The goblins cheered, for they finally had a place of their own. All their lives, the goblins had wandered the Underground, their brand of business and pleasure quite unpopular with other types of beings. They had never known anyone to be nice to them. Though they found it terribly amusing, the constant fear beings showed when goblins appeared DID bother them … a little. Jareth stood in shock, staring at the newly created Goblin City. The young man approached silently and placed one hand upon Jareth's shoulder. "The path away from destiny leads back to it," he noted. He glanced down proudly at the small creature. "And you," he continued softly, "heard their song. All beings have their own song. Pass on your knowledge. Teach future generations to listen to the songs of the universe, and listen for the different verses coming together." [Legends of Sir Hubris]  
_

* * *

Sarah, moping, sat in front her computer, staring into the webcam. Her twenty-six-year-old brother, who had curly blonde-brown hair, frowned in a small window on the computer desktop. "Sarah," he said grumpily, "how old are you, again?"

"Beg your pardon?"

Her brother sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sarah, stop whining. So you don't have kids. Your plays are your kids, right? You've got a year left til your Labyrinth fetish goes up."

Sarah looked away. "This isn't about that. And _stop_ calling it my 'Labyrinth fetish', Toby …"

Toby groaned. "Then what is it, Sis?" He pointed at his sister, though she still avoided eye contact. "You're a worse puppeteer than Jareth could ever hope to be!"

Sarah slapped the desk hard, her voice venomous: "How _dare_ you?" she screamed.

Toby shrugged. "You're such a freakin' tease, Sarah! You're not happy unless you're pining away for anything that isn't yours! You didn't like your life – so you went to college. You didn't like Mom or Dad – so you moved away. You felt powerless – so you summoned Jareth. Then, when you finally have him crawling on his knees – you just tell him he sucks and stomp back home. Make up your stupid mind, Sis."

* * *

Red Fraggle ran through tunnels, screaming out for Mokey, her best friend and roommate. Various creatures got all bug-eyed and scattered as she tore through each tunnel like a shrieking ball of fire. Mokey, taller than Red by half a foot, sporting bluish-white hair that cascaded down to her shoulders like a rushing waterfall, purple skin and fur, and a dark blue sweater, had taken off several days ago. At first, everyone thought she had been getting radishes from the Gorg's garden … but Junior … and Madame Trash Heap … hadn't seen her at all. The Fraggles had decided to split up to look for her, and Red headed toward the Cave of Forgetfulness, hoping Mokey hadn't become trapped there. It was populated by carnivorous plants that first sprayed fine pollen into the air, making Fraggles forget who they were. Once they forgot how to stand up, the plants would eat them.

If Mokey forgot Red, Red didn't know if she could handle it. Red was always flying off the handle and Mokey had this wonderful calming affect on her. Mokey wasn't like Boober … Boober hardly ever agreed to play games. Mokey, though, would drop her paints and poems and pick up a rock hockey stick … even if she wasn't good at it. The important thing was that she was willing to try.

Just as she rounded a corner, she ran smack into Cantus, a Minstrel, who was regarded as wise (but altogether strange and rather obtuse), for his magic twin pipe could breathe life and unity into the Rock. Everywhere he sang, the tunnels would light up in different colors and flowers would bloom and a fresh breeze would take the staleness away. Cantus was orange-yellow, with tufts of red hair on either side of his head and a small red goatee. He braced himself against a cave wall to keep from falling.

Red pushed away and stopped to look at whom she had run into. "Cantus!" she exclaimed. "Have you seen Mokey?" Her voice sounded like she was hyped up on Whoopie Water, a babble of over-bubbling broth that could keep a Fraggle awake for days.

Cantus righted himself and patted Red on her shoulder. He kinda sounded like a very mellow Rowlf the Dog: gruff but kind and gentle. "Mokey is searching. You are searching. Perhaps you both look for the same thing."

Red sighed, exasperated. Didn't he know this wasn't the time for riddles? "I'm look-ing for MO-KEY!" she told him, as if he were deaf.

Cantus nodded. "And so is she. I've noticed it the last few times I've come to the Great Hall: a strong verse has taken hold of Mokey. It threatens to overtake her _own_ voice." He lowered his head. "Of course, it might also make her sing louder. Who knows?"

Music could affect Fraggles in a multitude of ways. You could tell the quality of a Fraggle's heart and mind by their song, their inner "ping" that summarized their entire personality. Cantus had seen the beginnings of a great Minstrel in Mokey … but she still seemed too attached to her life in the Rock.

However, as the years had passed, even Cantus could learn a thing or two, he mused to himself. Perhaps Mokey could be the Minstrel That Stayed. After all, Cantus lived to unite the Rock with music. Once united, perhaps it was appropriate to let the next Minstrel play the song as he … or she … saw fit. On the one hand, no one would presumably keep the Rock united. On the other, he had no right to demand how the song continued.

It was just important that it _did_.

Red wanted to shake him, _force_ him to tell her where she went. Then, a thought popped into her mind. "It started nine years ago, Cantus," she mournfully informed him. "She dreamt Lanford, that Deathwort plant of hers, sacrificed his life to save his friends deep in the starry sky." She stared far into the tunnel, shaking her head. "She hasn't been right since."

Cantus stroked his chin. "Hm," he said, "perhaps we've discovered the singer … now we just have to listen to the song."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: That's it for the Legends of Sir Hubris part. The Labyrinthine realm's background is now up with the rest of the story.**

Chapter 5

(Fall, 2010AD)

In a distant kingdom, the Kingdom of Moraine, a tall castle with multiple spires rested precariously on an inverted triangle of rock, which floated above a massive lake. Water flowed in silver ribbons from the lowest floors of the castle into the lake below. The gentle moonlight emphasized the pale ivory façade, but it brought no beauty to the land's graceful Queen, Mizumi. She stared at the lake below from atop the highest spire, her long silver hair wafting in the cool night breeze, matching the rhythm of the waves below.

She had forbidden anyone from seeing her, even her two daughters, the scarred yet graceful Moulin and the morbidly obese Drumlin. She clenched her gown until her knuckles blanched. _How_ could she lose to that overbearing, pig-headed, weakened hide of an undead turtle? She had nearly succeeded in flooding Jareth's Goblin Kingdom and that frustrating Labyrinth, to the extent that waters nearly claimed surrounding territories. She had nearly succeeded in drowning the human child as well. The Pathmaker should have been _hers_ to control! Had she not accessed it?

_Why_ wouldn't he love her as he did those many centuries ago? Had she not more power than that human amateur? Could they not have run the entire universe by themselves? How could he continue to choose _her_ – that despicable (though admittedly strong-willed) woman? Sarah chaffed at every suggestion of living the rest of her life with Jareth, no matter how many times he wooed her. Mizumi's teeth began to ache, she was clenching them so tightly. What was he, some sort of masochist? Why couldn't he accept his rejection like an _adult_? If she wanted to remain a peasant for the entirety of her amazingly short lifespan – who was he to deny her? He would have helped her become anything her little heart desired … and she chose to return to the world of humans.

She inhaled deeply and shrieked at the lapping waves below, "_WHAT DOES THAT TINY WENCH HAVE THAT I DON'T_?"

She summoned a fine mist from her hand, forming a bony head with scars on the scalp and its lips stitched shut, though the one this image represented could still speak somehow. "Esker," she said resignedly, "dispatch spies to every kingdom, to the human world if necessary. Apparently we left a stone unturned somewhere. I want to know how Jareth won, once and for all."

"Milady," he noted in a bored, almost dismissive tone, "there has been no communication from the Goblin Kingdom in years, though his human wench is absorbed in the telling of how Jareth became Goblin King." He hoped she would not detect his feelings on the matter. He despised his queen's obsession with taking Jareth down. He had gone to eliminate him once … and his current status resulted from that encounter. Her two daughters, of course, teased him relentlessly about his failure. Before Jareth, he could have had those two boiled alive and Mizumi would only have mildly chastised him … for _he_ was the most powerful in the kingdom beside the queen. After all, he had managed to survive an encounter with "the most powerful sorcerer" in the Underground, had he not? Why should Mizumi continue to focus solely on some coward who hides amongst the goblin hordes?

Mizumi frowned even more than she had before. "Follow her. Do not fail me," she replied icily.

Esker shook his head. She had picked up on his displeasure. "Milady, we _have_ been following her. Jareth is not contacting her through mortal or immortal means," he protested.

Massive whirlpools began to churn and thrash against the castle as lightning shattered the night sky. Mizumi roared, "_THEN DO NOT LOOK TO JARETH_!" She gulped, trying to regain her composure. The lake began to calm once more. She inhaled deeply. "The waters of the river are too high … there is a tributary somewhere for which we have, as yet, not accounted. I want it found."

Esker sighed, nodding. "Yes, milady."

* * *

Sarah opened the door to the small office where the show's director was chatting with Jenny. As fall progressed, the theater chosen for their play had become a hive of activity, swarming with props and set designs. Normally, a play would open up a lot sooner, but Jenny and Sarah had wanted the opening performance to be _perfect_ … and it didn't hurt that they had the pull to do things as they pleased. Sarah knocked on the open door when she realized they hadn't noticed her. She was practically jumping up and down, her heart racing, her breathing almost labored. She could not hide the excitement in her voice. "Come quick, Jen! You _got_ to come see this! I found something absolutely _phenomenal_!" she squeaked.

Sarah and Jenny rushed down to the theater basement, which at the moment was housing sets and props as they were being built. In the middle of the floor was what appeared to be a dull metal crown about two feet high, made of ribbons of metal arcing up and back toward a dome helmet thing. Sarah noticed Jenny gawking at the find. "You didn't order this?" Jenny vacantly shook her head, her mouth gaping.

Just then they heard a cough behind them and a quick gasp. They turned to find an old man, slightly hunched over, carrying a broom. He was Caucasian with strong jowl lines and white hair with thick sideburns. A stagehand, by the looks of him, Sarah thought. She noticed he had a small flower pinned to a jacket pocket. His eyes were wide, staring at the two women. "I … I didn't mean to interrupt," he said, his voice almost gruff with age.

"Do you work here?" Sarah asked.

"I'm part of the staff. Here," he replied, handing her his badge. _Rick Hollandaise_. "I hope you don't … uh … mind the crown. I thought," he paused, trying to hide a look of frustration but hoping they'd pass it off as senility, "that the thing might be used in the … _play_," he grunted.

Jenny clasped her hands together. Her face practically lit the whole room. "It's _wonderful_! Where did you get it?"

Rick shrugged, clearing his voice. "I … uh … managed to pick it up along the way." He kept his head lowered, struggling to keep eye contact so he didn't look completely guilty. "You know those old men who like to pick up trash along the streets for hobbies and such? I'm that kinda guy," he continued, nodding, more confident in his answers now. "I'm all about being productive in my old age." He pointed at the beat-up crown. "You want me to polish that thing up for ya?"

"No, it's perfect the way it is," Sarah blurted out. "It could symbolize a dead kingship … the life is gone from it … it represents the futility of cosmic rule."

Jenny and Rick stared at Sarah for several moments. Jenny hadn't seen Sarah this animated in months. Rick sniffed and wiped his nose. "Whatever you say, Boss," he noted. "As long as I get it back when the show's over."

Jenny turned towards Rick, who had been trying to inch away. She smiled warmly. "Not a problem, Rick. We can't thank you enough."

Rick smiled politely and turned. "You don't have any divas here in this production, do ya?" He paused. Finally, he grumbled largely to himself, "I hate divas."

Jenny glanced at Sarah and smiled. "We don't particularly care for divas either, Rick. They're not good team players."

Rick chuckled as he walked out. "That's the truth…"

* * *

Pa Gorg rested in the natural-wood gazebo Junior had built on the opposite side of the property from the castle. He pulled his ratty purple cloak tighter, as the cold weather was beginning in the land. Red and yellow leaves once more littered the area. It had taken him months to find it … but there it was in his dusty blue hand … a small black orb … a sacred Gorg royal jewel handed down from the first Gorg King, Gorgous the Great, who had in turn received it from Sir Hubris himself. He was absolutely convinced that the royal jewel might be more than an ornament … maybe it could fix the whole mess with Junior and him not wanting to be King of the Universe.

Now, all he had to do was figure out how to activate it. There was nothing in the Great Book of the Gorgs, or in Junior's _Legends of Sir Hubris_ book, to tell a Gorg anything about its special powers. But Pa _knew_ it had special powers. After all, a legend was a legend….

Too bad he couldn't find one for this particular situation, though …

First, he had tried rubbing it vigorously like the magic lamps of old. All he managed to accomplish was tangling the fur on his hand.

Second, he had tried sucking on it like a piece of hard candy. All he managed to accomplish was chipping a tooth.

Third, he had "requested" some Fraggles go find him some other large round objects. They brought him six and he put them all together in a small heap in the middle of the kitchen floor, hoping maybe some magical creature would come flying out and he could have some wishes granted or something. All he managed to accomplish was causing Ma to step on the heap and fall flat on her rump. He thanked the heavens she had enough padding back there to break her fall – and he ended up sleeping in the tool shed for a week.

Now, he was starting to run out of ideas. This was all Junior's fault, he thought to himself.

_A son, a son!_

_A dummy for a son!_

_The boy could live a million years,_

_And leave no job undone!_

_Land's sakes! His traits_

_Begin to aggravate!_

_That witless, wonder, dunder, blunder,_

_Dummy of a son!_

Pa could take it no longer. "I wish," he began testily, "I just _wish_ …"

Suddenly, Pa clammed up, his eyes widening (as much as they could). What if the Legend of Sir Hubris was correct after all? What if he were summoned to what was the Gorg Kingdom and he wanted his crown back? Pa gulped, sweat beading on his brow. Junior threw the sacred Gorg crown away to who knows where …

Pa fumbled a bit as he put the jewel in a small pocket in his cloak. Maybe that wasn't such a bright idea after all. The Legend stated that the Gorgs must wander the universe if Sir Hubris returned. Perhaps even _that_ would be a better fate than what may happen if he found out the crown was … gulp … _gone_…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

(Spring, 2011AD)

"Milady," Esker said submissively as he stood before Queen Mizumi in her ornate bedroom. "Someone is attempting to contact the King of the Goblins."

Mizumi mindlessly swirled some water in a golden chalice with her index finger, not looking at him. "The wench or the brat?" she asked in a subduded monotone. She tried, as hard as she could, to see why Jareth was so obsessed over mere humans. It was like the rest of the universe didn't exist. His fixation depressed her greatly. It also confused her: he claimed that he wanted love. Mizumi had offered her partnership and her power. Together, they could rule the entire universe. Sarah, meanwhile, rebuffed him every chance she got. And yet, he preferred _her_.

Esker maintained a respectful distance, his arms crossed behind his back. He bowed slightly. "Neither, Your Majesty," he replied, with a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice, though how he spoke through stitched-shut lips was still something of a mystery. "Spies indicate a member of the Gorg species, a race known since ancient times, before humans became 'civilized'. Few still exist here and there, Milady … humans apparently…"

"Do I _look_ like I'm interested in paleontology?" Mizumi queried, glancing at her servant with a dagger-like gaze. She tossed the chalice aside, maintaining a fierce expression on her face. "The history of these creatures does not fascinate me, Esker. Get on with your point!"

"The _point_, Milady, is that Gorgs live in symbiosis with Fraggles."

Mizumi felt like slapping his face off. Esker had this irritating quality of thinking he was more important than he was. While he had been incredibly loyal for centuries, lately he had started to "advise" or "teach" her … as if she needed an education! Perhaps she had erred in … tightening her leash on him. After all, a shorter leash enabled the dog to reach your leg with its teeth more quickly. She stormed toward him, coming within inches of a face that would send chills down any normal spine. "Fraggles are just care-free rodents," she noted chillingly. She paused, a light coming on in her eyes as a disturbing thought flashed before her. Esker smirked. "Are you suggesting _Fraggles_ are mediating Jareth's wishes?"

Esker maintained his smirk. He wanted to back away from his mistress, but to do so would make him her prey. He was unsure how to respond, as the queen did not like the type of report he was about to make. "Milady, we do not think so. Fraggles spend a lot of time in the water. Their cave system is filled with pools. Spying on them is relatively easy. They do have _some_ contact with humans – but not the ones of use to us."

Mizumi broke eye contact first and sighed. She turned toward her bed, sat down, and dismissed her servant with her a wave of her hand. "Fraggles are only marginally more intelligent than goblins, Esker. Manipulating them is quite easily done. There are indeed pawns in Fraggle Rock. I want them identified … and eliminated."

"There is the matter of an Oracle within the Eastern Gorg Province, Your Majesty…"

Mizumi smiled, leaning back. "I think the little toad has lived in exile long enough, Esker. Restore his position, grant anything he desires … it is high time McMooch _earned_ a living again, don't you agree?"

* * *

Opening night, April 2011. The lights had dimmed, the curtain raised … the show began with a moody instrumental piece. A spotlight cast a blue hue on a cloaked figure circling a beat-up two-foot-tall crown. The cloaked figure, known as male only by the deep nature of its voice, sang a dirge about losing his sense of self after giving up his crown. The melody grew stronger, the figure more animated in sharp, exaggerated gestures of distress.

Sarah frowned as she looked on from backstage. She rubbed her eyes. Jenny was attending in the audience with Kermit the Frog, as was their habit when there was a new show. She wore her customary peach-colored sleeveless gown, while he wore a dark purple tuxedo, reminiscent of the one he wore in his Broadway show, though without the sparkles. She shrugged. Maybe it was a nostalgic thing. Sarah stared at the cloaked figure. Perhaps it was the lighting. Perhaps she was just tired. Maybe her retinas were starting to detach or something. _Something_ was happening. Little specks of light were blinking on and off all throughout the area.

"Sis," a young male voice whispered from behind, "are you okay?"

Sarah turned to find her younger half-brother Toby, who, in a fit of maturity, was wearing a suit. A deep red tie complemented his curly hair quite nicely. She nodded, rubbing her eyes.

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

Sarah flashed her brother a puzzled look. She glanced at the audience. "Jenny and Kermit? Uh … no …"

Toby sighed. "Not them, Sarah … those _sparkles_ … or whatever they are."

Sarah's face went whiter than notebook paper. Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She gawked at Toby. "_You see them too_?" she whispered (quite loudly).

The noise level of backstage increased as large fiberglass hills were rolled out onto stage left. The cloaked figure limped to one of them as grasses appeared in spots around the stage floor, the lighting increasing and warming to suggest a sunrise. The song was now brightening, with the tones of hopefulness and peace at long last. The audience had already started to applaud.

"I think they're magic or something," Toby replied casually. Having survived being King of the Labyrinth, having survived Mizumi … seeing spots was not nearly enough to register on his Creepout-o-meter.

Sarah turned away. "I don't care about magic, Toby," she said sadly. She crossed her arms and inched away from him, trying to concentrate on the play. "I don't care _what_ Jareth wants."

Toby rolled his eyes. "Christ, Sarah, you have a one-track mind. I never said anything about Jareth or Mizumi or the Labyrinth. I only said they're magic, obviously." He closed his eyes and strained to listen. "Something about … 'coming' …." He tapped on Sarah's shoulder. "Can you hear the rest of it?"

Sarah jerked her shoulder away. "I don't hear sparkles, Toby. Not everything is magic, you know. Try to invest in reality, please." She tried to bury herself in one of the curtains. How could he ever understand? When you got older, the magic just … disappeared. The sun no longer had a smiley face, the clouds no longer formed shapes, a flock of beautiful birds became a horrendous mess on the sidewalk that had to be cleaned up.

Toby turned from his sister, shrugging. His tone was hurt. "Magic is everywhere, Sarah, if you see it that way. It's even in you. Investing in adulthood does _not_ mean ignoring the strange and unusual." He paused. "You wouldn't have seen those things or even written this play if there still wasn't something there."

* * *

Cantus, the Minstrel of Fraggle Rock, had finally located Mokey in an ancient cave known to be the home of Blundig, a legendary Fraggle who taught Fraggles how to dance their cares away long, long ago. He walked in on her as she sat cross-legged … nude, her robes lay crumpled on the floor of the cave. Her eyes were shut. He could hear her mumbling, chanting. Despite the quiet song, the lighting of the cave remained dim, which was strange, since music made the light come.

Suddenly, Mokey stopped. Without turning, she noted in a voice much silkier and deeper (yet still soft and feminine), "Be still."

Cantus kept his distance. His fears had been confirmed … Mokey's own Song was lost inside that of another. He waited a few moments and decided to ask, "To whom am I speaking?"

Mokey did not reply right away. Soon, though, he heard her sobbing. "Al … always … together," she replied, wiping away tears.

"Yes," Cantus acknowledged softly. "However, you put Mokey at risk. If she cannot express herself, she may not live much longer."

"Mokey" chuckled in a sad creepy way. "Death is but a transition … from one limited form to another." She barely turned her head, though she did not make eye contact. "Does it scare you, musician?"

Cantus swallowed, frowning, straining to hide the tenseness of his voice. "Life here is not about the individual. It is about the whole. Letting even _one_ leaf brown may destroy whole trees."

"Mokey" smiled. She reached for her cloak and put it on and stood up. She looked at Cantus, her pale bluish-white hair falling gently to her shoulders. "I see: she is important to you, then? She has remarkable gifts … much like my own. This place, these caves," she continued, nodding toward different tunnels, "they speak to me."

Cantus nodded. "Yes, the caves are alive. Only those who listen can hear it." He continued, glancing all around him, "The caves are anxious … they sense danger."

"Mokey" nodded. "Then you also understand what must be done." She picked up a small stone which glistened with tiny specks of light. "They must carry the light with them."

"An evacuation?" Cantus questioned solemnly. To his knowledge, nothing of the sort had ever been attempted before … not without putting the Rock at risk. However, he was starting to see the being's strategy. If Fraggles left the Rock, there would be no more song. Without song, the Ditzies, tiny crystalline creatures that shined when resonated by music, would die, taking the life of the Rock with them. However, if the Ditzies could be brought along….

"Mokey" shook her head. "It is not a separation. We will still be joined as one. It is …," she trailed off, trying to come up with the right words, "flowing … with the melody presented before us."

Cantus cleared his throat. "May I speak to Mokey?" he asked gently, looking at the ground.

"Mokey" stared at him with a certain warmth and sadness in her eyes. "As your flute plays only songs that exist, only the right tune will Mokey hear."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

(A Strange Interlude)

[Video footage of a blazing wildfire, the flames leaping high above blackening trees, plays on the television screen as dramatic music matches the licking of the flames. The camera pans down and toward the edge of the burning forest, zooming in on a small spot of ash. A lone seedling emerges via time-lapse, gently spreading its two leaves, as the music takes a far more upbeat and hopeful tone. The footage then cuts to the title screen.]

**TITLE: THE FASCINATING WORLD OF WORLD HISTORY**

[A balding Caucasian male with bits of gray in his brown hair appears, smiling, with a khaki shirt/shorts/vest combo in a museum lobby.]

Man: (with British accent) Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to tonight's special documentary, _The Fascinating World of World History_. I'm Sir David Tushingham. Perhaps you've been wondering: "Where _have_ I seen that strapping British scientist before?" (chuckles) Well, never one to toot my own horn, as it were … but I _do_ have my previous specials out on DVD. Buy them at your local video retailer. ["Buy Now" and "$19.95" flash on the screen.] (begins to walk toward the back of the lobby) Now, for the longest time, the ancient world has been a mystery, a positively enigmatic conundrum of profound proportions. History can be like a wildfire: bold, dazzling, (pauses) ready to consume the unwary at a moment's notice. And yet, just as seedlings use that fire to stretch out into the warm glow of the sunlight of discovery, so, too, can the average person awaken into the knowledge that is best related to those of us who do nothing but play around in the dirt of ignorance all day long. (motions to the camera) So, since I pre-empted your silly little meaningless miniseries, I invite you to follow me as we trace the global timeline of our dear planet in this nine-hour documentary.

[A young dark-skinned woman with a headset comes up behind Mr. Tushingham, tapping him on his right shoulder. He turns and she smiles.]

Woman: You have about five minutes, sir. [leaves abruptly]

Sir David Tushingham: (scoffs) Five _minutes_? Surely the writers could come up with a bit more to say than that! We're talking _millions_ of years of history! (catches himself, smiles to the camera) Well, I assure you this, indeed, will _not_ sacrifice the kind of quality you've come to expect from me! Surely I can explain the finer points of the past tens of millennia in five minutes. After all, I'm an expert in the field! Some of your more profitable educational shows take nearly _forty years_ to address something as simple as counting to twenty or singing the alphabet! (indignantly) And psychologists claim shows like that teach our young to have short attention spans! _I_ tuned out my teachers in under ten minutes … imagine dwelling on a lesson for half a century!

[Sir Tushingham ambles over to a small television set, picks up a remote, and presses scores of buttons, growing increasingly frustrated, until a picture of a molten ball of rock successfully appears on screen.]

Sir David Tushingham: (proudly) Ah, here we are, then …. Billions of years ago, our planet was a molten ball of rock, churning in its own discomfort at being forced to speed up the creation process. (sighs, hits "fast-forward") Let's just skip to the good parts, shall we? You'll notice, if you're taping this at home, that the earth cools down, gets a few oceans, and has a large single land mass that we experts like to call "Pangaea." On this super-continent, bugs and trees and gigantic lizards sprung up and proliferated. (hits "pause") Now, you may wonder, if this happened over millennia, why is everything appearing so quickly? Does it not detract from the evolutionary premise, you ask? (shakes head, smiling as he sighs) Ah, to be a member of the simple public once more… Perhaps the use of the "fast-forward" button on my little remote control flew past you? (nods) Go on, then … rewind this tape you're making and see for yourself …. (inhales deeply) Are you quite through, then? Do you mind if we continue? Thank you.

[Sir David Tushingham continues narrating as the fast-forwarded images lead to a grayed earth, swirling with clouds, landmasses no longer viewable.]

Tushingham VO: Around sixty-million years ago before the common era, which did not exist at that time, the planet was engulfed in massive clouds that kept out the sun. [video pauses] Who knows why it happened … perhaps there was a massive Rain Dance, and dinosaurs danced until their claws fell off, leading to worldwide ruin. Perhaps the moon originally had all those clouds, got tired of them, and gave them to its parent planet. At any rate, everyone died. (long pause, with melodramatic music) Or _did_ they? Recent paleontological evidence, discovered by a graduate of the "Sir David Tushingham's Famous Paleontolgists' Home Study Course", a Mr. Jerome Christian of sunny Arizona, [a picture of "Doc" Jerome Christian, a very elderly Caucasian male appears on screen amidst rocks and sand in a desert archaeological dig site] seems to support the notion that _something_ giant and equally obtuse survived the catastrophic global catastrophe. As you might recall, Mr. Christian discovered a giant ship called La Gorgola [pictures of artifacts from this find appear on screen], as well as a giant metal crown sometime later. While it pales in comparison to my own discoveries … for an amateur it's a remarkable discovery. Pity some of the artifacts went missing over the decades since their discovery.

[The camera returns to Mr. Tushingham, who is trying to salvage tape from the VCR. He looks up and smiles, throwing the whole set up to the ground.]

Tushingham: As you may recall, a new Broadway production has opened up, promising to give even more insight into the history of …

**Announcer: We thank you for your patience. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming…**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

(Spring, 2011AD)

Deep in a mucky swamp early in the morning, with large winged insects buzzing by and dank smells wafting up from the muddy water, a three-foot-tall toad with a thin black wiry mustache and two tufts of hair under his broad chin ambled around in his "apartment", which consisted of a shallow muddy cave hidden among the browned reeds of the swamp. He lived a few miles from the Gorg Province, which was not to his liking at all. Though he enjoyed the creepiness and the desolate nature of the swamp, he was still far too near Fraggle Rock, in his opinion.

Why couldn't Fraggles enjoy lying, cheating, and stealing … like he did? That was the _real_ way the world worked, after all. Back in Moraine, before his untimely banishment, one-upping and self-indulgence were as natural as breathing. Even that fool Goblin King had been expert in linguistic manipulations. He nearly retched, thinking of the Fraggles again. It was like they lived in their own little world, apart from every other region in the universe. He certainly couldn't wrap his spindly green fingers around their actions: they were just too bizarre, too cute, too friendly…

He heard a faint tapping just outside his apartment. He looked high and low, finally spotting a tiny yellow worm with thick orange bands, bobbing its head, lying on a wrinkled sheet of paper. Wander McMooch smiled, which typically made anyone squirm. He recognized the little worm from a vacation he took once in a place called Grouchland. The rather tame green grouch that cared for him called him Slimey. "Well," he said, in a very greasy sleazeball voice, "haven't seen _you_ around my pad lately. Your master must keep you very busy." He rubbed his hands together greedily. "I heard you went to the moon – that must have been breathtaking!" He zoomed over to the worm, gently pushed it off the piece of paper, and picked up what looked to be a badly-written letter. He stood up, his wide eyes going back and forth as he read the contents to himself. He couldn't believe who had written him: why, the threats contained therein dwarfed anything the Queen of Moraine had come up with – even _after_ he contaminated her water supply as a prank that fateful day. He forced himself to chuckle "casually", balling up the wad of paper in his hand. He stooped over to pat the worm on the head. "Do come again, little one, okay? Tell your master, also, that those shawls he sent me were positively hideous and moth-eaten! He always comes up with the _best_ presents. You'll tell him, won't you?" The little worm nodded eagerly and left, inching away through the muck until it disappeared.

Just as the little worm left, a mist slowly advanced throughout the swamp. Wander shuddered, and not only because the mist cooled the air for the cold-blooded creature. An elegant woman with long silver hair, a fair complexion, and a thin light blue gown appeared within the mist. She smirked. "Why, Wander … I haven't heard a reply from you. Esker informed me he offered to take you back home to Moraine in return for certain … actions … you could perform for us. I came to confirm his offer … and to remind you what happens when I am rebuffed, especially by slimy … little … toads … like you." She put a finger up to her lower lip. "Now, you certainly aren't _ignoring_ me, are you, Wander McMooch? After my offer? _That_ would be quite foolish of you."

Wander tried to laugh it off. "Royal Queen," he exclaimed, inflating his body and gaining about two feet of height, "how wonderful it is to see you again!" He bowed, his face almost touching the muck below. His voice continued to suggest submissive adoration (or at least sucking-up). He straightened back out. He disliked being caught off guard by taller visitors … although he could make himself bigger (handy when dealing with Gorgs, especially), he always felt more vulnerable doing so. For him, making himself bigger merely made _him_ a bigger target for those who were not against violence. "I didn't want to bother you until I had a couple of plans worked out, that's all."

"How thoughtful of you," Mizumi replied with a certain fake politeness. "How _do_ you plan on eliminating the Oracle from the Gorg Province?"

Wander scratched his chin. "Well, I could convince the Gorgs to start a recycling program … after all, no trash, no Trash Heap."

Mizumi sighed. "I want her gone by tomorrow. Besides, how would you prevent Fraggles from contributing to her?"

Wander jerked back, startled. "Tomorrow? Why so soon?"

Mizumi frowned, glaring at the toad. "Your _other_ plans?"

Wander didn't like this one bit at all. Mizumi could be a vindictive little witch, but this seemed too … rushed … for her. She was either going off half-boiled or she had been letting her vindictiveness steep for years. Either way, it was incredibly frightening, especially if she wanted the Trash Heap dead. Wander didn't like Marjory either, particularly because although she was made up of thrown-away odds and ends, she was gentile and compassionate and willing to have fun with Fraggles … not to mention her obsession with bringing about the universe in some sort of _disgusting_ perfect harmony. When he came to the swamp next to the Gorg Province, he had met the Trash Heap and she didn't appreciate the finer points of swindling and bamboozling. They hadn't gotten along since. "W-well," he stammered, "the easiest and fastest way would be to kill off her little rat companions, Philo and Gunge. They maintain her life force somehow. Get rid of them and she weakens quickly." He shook his head, his legs trembling. How was he going to set this up without getting killed either way? "The problem is, Your Majesty, that the Trash Heap is irritatingly powerful. The Gorgs give her a large portion of a year-end dish called … uh, what was it, again? Ah, yes … Goombah soup. It is sloppy mess of leftovers with remarkable rejuvenating properties. Even if you wanted to _drown_ the Gorg castle … she might be able to stop you. It also makes getting near those two rats somewhat … frustrating," he continued, keeping his head down.

Mizumi smiled. "I will send Drumlin to assist you tomorrow morning, should you have failed to eliminate the Oracle by then." Mizumi then disappeared as well as the mist.

Wander could hear random swamp sounds such as croaking, gurgling, and the occasional birdsong. My, wasn't he popular today? Threats from two different queens, both promising unimaginable suffering if he didn't do as each commanded, even though their commands were in direct opposition to each other. He deflated himself and slumped down against the nearest wall, sighing. He would like nothing better than to get rid of Marjory once and for all. However, it had been decades since he'd been particularly nasty to Mizumi, too. While the letter's author didn't _command_ him to harm Mizumi, Wander began to theorize that the omission was an implicit suggestion to do so. After all, the letter didn't exactly _forbid_ it, either, right? The letter said that if he let anything happen to Marjory … well, best not to dwell on what was promised. Furthermore, Mizumi had an unsettling appetite for amphibians. He knew he'd be in a stew if he weren't careful.

When his heart stopped racing, Wander leaned back and smiled. This may turn out to be his most infamous con yet….

* * *

The Great Hall of Fraggle Rock was filled to capacity. It was a large cave, with a central pool and multiple ledges and ridges that stretched up to the base of the Gorg well, some forty feet above. Every available spot in the three-dimensional space was taken by a Fraggle, from the loudly-colored hyper ones from what was known as the Rock to the blander-colored monotone ones from what was known as the Cave. A hushed mumbling pervaded the space. Every Fraggle held a small rough rock, which glittered as they spoke.

At the edge of the Fraggle Pond stood Red, Cantus, Mokey, Gobo, Wembley, and Boober, the one who obsessed over doom. Cantus played a few bars of his theme on his magic pipe to silence the crowd. He put the pipe away and motioned to the crowds. "We are all here," he noted to Mokey.

The light purple Fraggle with the shoulder-length, bluish-white hair nodded, her voice still silky and lacking Mokey's usual dream-like quality. She raised her voice so all could hear (though it was barely necessary, as the acoustics permitted even the furthest Fraggles to hear her). "Fraggles … the time has come, not to say good-bye, but to join as one … in one movement." She paused, inhaling deeply before continuing. "We have sent for allies among those called Silly Creatures. Humans … are a strange species, but I know there are those who have good hearts. Travelling Matt has used the cave filled with time-space portals to get help for us."

"Great, we're all going to die," Red uttered under her breath. She didn't have anything against Gobo's Uncle Matt personally … she just thought he was an idiot. He was a Fraggle that could confuse a hat with a sock if you gave him the opportunity. It also irritated her that Gobo practically worshipped him. It was like Gobo couldn't tell the difference between exploring and getting lost, because _Matt_ sure couldn't. He only survived his adventures because fate was kind to him, that's all. Meanwhile, Red was inching her way closer to climbing to the top of the Great Hall every season … and Gobo acted like she was just standing on one leg.

"Those portals lead to many areas," Mokey continued, ignoring Red's comment. "You must all leave the Rock, carrying with you the tiny crystalline entities called Ditzies. In this way, the Rock, if darkened by the danger to come, can be re-lit."

"Why don't we just camp out with the Gorgs?" Wembley asked Cantus. "Besides, the Trash Heap can protect us as well."

Cantus held his tongue and lowered his eyes.

Gobo noticed. "What is it, eh?"

Cantus shook his head. "Madame Heap," he replied solemnly, "will not live if she stays where she is."

Red gasped. You could hear a single hair drop on the cave floor. Red could bear it no longer – she lunged at Cantus, grabbing him by his cloak. "You mean we aren't there _protecting_ her?" she screamed, shaking Cantus furiously.

"Red!" Mokey exclaimed, trying to pry her friend from the Minstrel. "We can't protect her!"

Red had a death-grip on Cantus. Her face was tightly curled downward. "_There are at least a million of us! If we all work together … we can stop it!_"

Cantus shook his head. Red stopped. The look of his eyes calmed her immediately. "Red, courageous Red … we cannot help her. But her family _can_."

Red eased her grip. "Her … _family_?" She glanced back at Mokey. "How can a Trash Heap have a family?"

Cantus put his hand on her shoulder. "We haven't the time."

Mokey nodded. "We need to evacuate the Rock in twenty-four hours."

Gobo adjusted his vest nervously. "So, what about the Doozers, eh? What about _all_ the creatures of the Rock?" He bit his lower lip. "We're not going to let them die, are we?" Throughout Gobo's travels, he had learned to make friends with lots of different types of creatures. He did not want to believe that fate would make him meet those beings if they were only going to leave the Rock … forever.

Mokey replied, "The Doozers and those who are able will stay in the Gorg's basement."

"The Doozers don't mind having their entire lives uprooted and destroyed?" Boober asked in his gloomy way. His voice reminded one of a trombone in quality.

Cantus shrugged. "They relish the idea that all their buildings will be destroyed … since it means they can start from scratch."

"Figures," Boober replied. The only beings more in denial about the nature of reality than Fraggles were Doozers, Boober thought glumly to himself. No matter what you did to their structures, made from pressed radish dust, they always celebrated such destruction. All they could ever think about was building. He slightly shook his head, absorbed in his own morose musings: he was certain such unrelenting optimism was a terrifying mental disorder.

Red let Cantus go, turned to Mokey, and quieted her tone. "Mokey," she pleaded, "you have to come with us. You're … you're my best friend."

Mokey ran her fingers through one of Red's pigtails. Her smile was warm. "Red … you and Gobo are natural leaders. It makes sense for you two to be in charge of the evacuation. I must stay behind with Cantus and Convincing John. We are the only ones who can hear the solution to this problem."

Boober slowly worked his way to Mokey. It had been particularly hard on him, watching Mokey act strangely for so many years, ever since that awful nightmare. He had been attracted to her sense of morbidity for decades. She could write the most depressing poems in all of Fraggledom, something that he admired. On the other hand, ever since she dreamt of the death of her Deathwort plant, she hid in far away caves to chant to herself for several hours each day about strange things like "Seeks" and "Pau" and "Unity". It terrified him, and not even his belubious, the fluffy part of his tail, could stop his heart from racing every time he thought about it. Of course, since he always focused on the negative … no one really noticed much. "Mokey," he started, his voice nearly a whisper, "if you … if you need us…."

Mokey stroked his face. Her voice, for one brief instant, returned to normal. "I'll call. Thank you, Boober."

* * *

Jenny and Sarah were cleaning up the arena where they had had a party, a rousing affair in honor of stellar reviews of opening night that left the whole place looking as though it had been hit by a tornado. Large monsters from the Muppet Theater helped with the big equipment, the Electric Mayhem had already carried away their portable instruments and sound systems, the stagehand Rick Hollandaise busily polished the crown he had lent to the show, and Ms. Bitterman was passed out on a lonely sofa in the far corner of the place, having been given a special concoction by a mischievous King Prawn, who was still more than a little upset about being conned by a beautiful woman.

Kermit called out for Jenny. She stopped sweeping, looked around, and spied the famous frog … with someone she felt she had seen before … somewhere. Kermit finally reached her, panting. "Jenny, Matt here needs our help," he told her, pointing to the elderly creature beside him, who matched Kermit's height. The creature had beige skin and fur, a tail with a white fluff on the end, a long white mustache and thick white sideburns. He wore a khaki jacket and a hat one might expect famous explorers to have.

Jenny snapped her fingers, a light appearing in her eyes and voice. "Ah, Travelling Matt – you attended the wedding in _Manhattan Melodies_, am I right?" Jenny and the gang had been trying to "fill the pews" for the big wedding number and during the rushed costume fittings and place arrangements, this elderly little fellow had just stumbled onto the stage, looked around at all the creatures sitting there awaiting the bride and groom, and casually sat down in the front row. By the time the audience witnessed the start of the wedding scene, it was too late to remove him. Besides, it offered a humorous look to have something so tiny sit with large brown bears.

Matt nodded. He fidgeted. He sounded like a gruffer version of Boober, though his pitch varied more: "Yes, it was a very beautiful ceremony. However, I regret I have a favor to ask of you … if it's okay."

"Oh?"

"Matt here is a Fraggle from Fraggle Rock," Kermit interjected. "Fraggles are magical creatures who can show up anywhere magic is needed."

Sarah rolled her eyes, grunted, and turned from them, focusing on sweeping.

"Uh," Kermit continued, doing a double take on Sarah, "anyway, they need a place to hang out until some … uh … issues are worked out in the Rock." Jenny didn't respond immediately. "I told him he could borrow my house on Sesame Street. But, there are so many…." Kermit hoped Jenny could help him find a place for all of them. He had heard about Fraggles back in the early eighties …

_Kermit and Grover, a self-labeled cute furry blue monster, strode into the post office one cold winter afternoon. They hadn't received their mail that day, but Grover wouldn't go unless Kermit joined him. As they joined the line waiting for their mail, they noticed a purple-faced cowboy with brown hair standing in front of them, humming to himself absent-mindedly. Kermit glanced at Grover and tapped the cowboy on the shoulder. "Uh, excuse me, could you move forward, please?" he whispered._

_The cowboy turned around and got a big grin on his face. "Well, HOWDY, uh … uh," he buried his head in his hands, his cheeks blushing with embarrassment._

"_Kermit," he replied, frowning. "Let's just try to move the line forward, alright, Forgetful?"_

_Forgetful Jones stared at Kermit blankly. "Why? The music ain't even started yet."_

"_Music?" Grover asked in disbelief with his normally high-pitched gravelly voice._

_Jones sighed and rolled his head around in a circle melodramatically. "Well, of COURSE, there's supposed to be music – this is 'line dancin'' after all, you know!" He shook his head. "And they call ME 'forgetful', sheesh."_

_Grover glanced over at Kermit, whose mouth was crunched up in that characteristic frown he always got when he was about to scream at someone. Grover quickly stepped forward and whispered in Jones' ear._

_Forgetful laughed, slapping his knee. "Yee haw … I FORGOT," he informed Grover cheerfully yet sheepishly. He strongly patted Grover on the shoulder. "Well, just to let you know I don't mean no harm or nothin', I'll go up to that lil' lady up there at that there winder and get those envelopes you're needin', okay?" Before they could respond, he marched up to the window and was handed some mail, which he distributed to Kermit and Grover. "Here you nice young fellers go … Kermit … Gobo …."_

"_Gobo?" Grover asked, staring at a small postcard. "My name is not … 'Gobo Fraggle'." He looked at Kermit. "I do not even think this postcard goes to Sesame Street at all."_

_Forgetful Jones snatched it from him and stared at it carefully. "You mean, you ain't got this 'Uncle Matt' feller writin' to ya?"_

_Grover sighed. "My … name … is … GROVER," he informed Jones slowly, starting to lose patience himself._

"_Look, Forgetful, just hand it back to the postlady," Kermit told him flatly. Kermit tried so hard to keep his temper with Forgetful. It wasn't HIS fault his short-term memory was shot._

_Jones shrugged and smiled that ever-cheerful smile of his and handed it back to the postlady behind the counter. "Here ya go, Gobo," he told her. He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "You know, that's a right pretty strange name for a girl…."_

"We are quite intelligent and helpful creatures, Miss," Matt offered tensely and hopefully. "There's about a million of us strong. We obviously _all_ can't fit in one Silly Creature's cave … but our strategy is to split up … temporarily … until the danger passes."

"What danger?" a young male voice asked. Everyone turned to see a young man with curly brown-blonde hair. He stretched out his hand to Matt. "You're Travelling Matt, right? You were at the ball…."

Matt twitched his nose. "Uh, the goblin ball? Yes!" he replied, nodding enthusiastically, shaking Toby's hand. "Yes! I remember now! You're the young Silly Creature who became heir to the throne of the Goblin Kingdom, am I right?" He turned to Kermit, smiling. "Brave young lad." He glanced back at Toby. "We're unaware of the identity of the one who threatens the Rock, I'm afraid."

Toby bowed slightly. "Consider my place a sanctuary, then. I'd be honored to have such a prestigious guest."

Jenny smiled. Sarah's brother was such an accommodating sort, much like her father had been. She nodded. "Yes, we'll be happy to help any way we can. We should be able to fit quite a lot of you in our theater."

Kermit tapped Matt on the shoulder. "We might be able to come up with some space at our theater, too … though not to the same extent."

Matt sniffled, tears welling up in his eyes. "I … I never would have guessed you Silly Creatures and talking Space Frogs could be so generous! The Fraggles will welcome your hospitality with open arms!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

(Spring, 2011AD)

Junior Gorg looked out somberly through the window in the belfry of the Gorg Castle, sighing, watching as Wander McMooch gathered greaseberry leaves … and berries … and roots … in the garden below. Suddenly, he heard someone climbing up the ladder. He turned to find Pa, panting at every rung, appearing through the trap door.

Pa blinked twice before speaking, trying to control his voice. "Junior … do you know what's happening in our garden?"

Junior nodded. "Yes, Daddy … McMooch is down de-yah takin' gweasebewwy plants," he replied in a casual, matter-of-fact tone.

Pa finally stood before him, scowling, his eyes all squinty. "_Greaseberry plants_? _McMooch_? Junior, if you sold our castle to that thieving little toad again…."

Junior shook his head, backing up to the window, his hands waving wildly. "Nonono, Daddy! I didn't sell the castle again! He said he needed 'em for tomowwow."

Pa threw his head back in indignation, his arms thrashing around. "And _why_ do we care what _he_ wants? _Why_ are we giving him _my_ greaseberry plants? You know I hate not having greaseberries for breakfast," he exclaimed, then continued under his breath, "and lunch and dinner." Pa poked a finger at Junior. "If you were still King …"

Junior sighed and turned his back on his father. "Pa, don't start up with dat again." He paused. "I don't want to be King of da Universe."

Pa turned from his son, clenched his fist so tightly it hurt, bit his lip so hard it bled, and cursed silently to himself. He tried counting to twenty, though it didn't help much. When he felt he could talk to his son without choking him, he turned and inhaled deeply. His voice was far more subdued. "Junior," he began warily, "I … I know you think I'm some old fool, out of touch with how things ought to be. I was against you having Fraggles as friends. I was against you throwing the sacred Gorg crown away to who knows where." He sighed, the pain in his voice becoming more evident. "Junior, tomorrow you celebrate five hundred years of living in this universe. Destiny has decreed you would become a great Gorg King … perhaps … even greater than King Gorgous himself. It is a king's duty to help those in his kingdom. It's in the air, Junior, my boy. A darkness is coming and we're all in danger."

Junior still avoided eye contact, staring out the window. "I don't _have_ to be King of da Universe to help my friends, Pa."

Pa gently put his hand on his son's shoulder, bowing his head slightly. "You don't have to be a king to be friends … but if you were King … there would be certain rules, such as enemies not just taking over your land. The only way a kingdom can change hands is to win it in battle or offer it in trade."

Junior barely turned his head. "Pa, we don't have a kingdom no more."

Pa nodded, his voice exasperated. "_Exactly_! That's what I've been _trying_ to tell ya, boy! If our home is no longer the great Gorg Kingdom, then anyone can just waltz on in and do whatever they want with it! You've got friends now … do you _really_ want to put them at risk … all because you don't want to grow up?"

Junior sighed, turning slowly towards his father. "The Shadow said I could be _anything_ I wanted! And … and … da Fwaggles said it's bettah not to have a boss at all! I'm only twying to do da wight t'ing, Pa."

Pa closed his eyes. "If Fraggles told you putting garden shears up your nose was a good idea … would you actually _do_ it?" He opened his eyes, his facial expression filled with sincere pleading. "Fraggles are Fraggles. Gorgs are Gorgs. I _realize_ we're all connected, Junior, but it doesn't mean we all have to live the exact same way!"

"He has a point," noted a deeper gruff voice. "If everyone sang exactly the same, there would be no harmony."

Junior and Pa looked around and spotted a yellow-orange Fraggle, taller than the usual ones, with red tufts of hair and a mellow expression. Junior recognized the voice as the Shadow. He pointed at the Fraggle. "You! You told me I could be anyt'ing I wanted!"

The Fraggle nodded gently. "I also told you you could become a great Gorg _King_." He sighed. "The trouble with the universe is that there are so many options, wembling is inevitable. I thought you were different."

"I _didn't_ wemble!" Junior protested angrily. "I made a choice! I chose not to be King!"

"So you went back on your previous decision … which _makes_ you a wembler," the sage Fraggle replied, making Pa chuckle in agreement.

"What pwevious decision?" Junior retorted, offended.

The Fraggle shook his head. "Junior Gorg!" he exclaimed with irritation. "You promised to play the Royal Kazoo. It can only be played by a great Gorg King. _You_ played it! All you ever wanted was to prove to your father you could be a great Gorg King. Then, just as suddenly, when the safety of all our futures was almost assured … you went back on your word! What is right for the goose is not always right for the gander … you cannot succeed living a Fraggle's life, just as we cannot succeed living the lives of Doozers or Gorgs." Cantus pointed emphatically at Pa. "Your father is not as clueless as you think, Junior. He was blind to the nature of the Universe … but so were you, once. You can't throw away an old song just because it's no longer in fashion. There will always be a need to learn from _all_ melodies, no matter how out of place they may seem at the time." He sighed resignedly. He didn't like getting on to others … but even _his_ patience had limits.

Junior Gorg bowed his head in shame. Pa's eyes were widened, his mouth agape. He had never been … _understood_ … to this extent before, certainly not by a mere Fraggle. It had become a cliché to think of Pa Gorg as an out-of-touch conservative who placed tradition above the needs of the present. Pa would never admit it, but _his_ father had considered him a dunder-headed lummox with crazy ideas when _he_ was a child. It was, after all, an unsung tradition … to hate the foolish ideas coming out of the mouths of your children. Pa may have had his faults, but so did the next generation … and so did the generations that came before. Pa's eyes began to moisten. This was the first time in decades … maybe centuries … that Pa had felt so … so … _validated_….

* * *

Sarah sat on the porch swing just outside the back door to Toby's house. His parents had sold it to him so they could travel to Europe, despite Irene's (Sarah's stepmother) protests. She thought Toby should make his own way, that selling the house to him was spoiling him. However, they couldn't argue with the amount of money he paid for it, thanks to his software development career.

The full moon cast a soft glow on the ornate back yard, filled with ornamental flowers and shrubs. She just couldn't take being inside anymore, not with all the shouting and singing and dancing. Toby, naturally, was at the top of his game, providing for the Fraggles who had to escape Fraggle Rock for some reason. Toby had really come along, having learned the finer points of making people happy when he was Goblin King. While she was proud of him, Sarah could not share in his success.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" asked a low male voice. Sarah looked around, finally looking down to find a blue Fraggle with red hair, a brown cap, and a dark red scarf. His eyes weren't readily visible.

"Sure, I guess," Sarah replied quietly. "Partied too hard, huh?" she asked, trying to make polite small talk.

The Fraggle shook his head. "I'm not the party type." He looked up at her. "Oh, I'm Boober, by the way."

"Sarah. Toby's my half-brother."

Boober jerked back a little. He glanced back and forth. "Uh … he looks like he has all his limbs to me…."

Sarah couldn't help but smile. "No, no … it means we only share one parent, not both."

"Oh," Boober replied, sighing with relief. "Do you mind if we just sit here? I'm not much of a conversationalist," he requested, his shoulders drooping.

"Sure … I like things to be nice and quiet, myself."

He nodded. "Yeah, me too."

For three hours the two gently swayed on the porch swing, staring at the moon as it glowed on the various plants. They soon couldn't tell if the party was still going on. It could've been because they all finally got tired … or Sarah and Boober were just really self-absorbed at the moment. Sarah glanced at Boober out the corner of her eyes. He was staring at his swaying feet, his tail slowly curling and uncurling, his lower lip trembling. Finally, he broke the silence. "Do you," he said hesitantly, "do you think … it's all over for Fraggle Rock?" His voice quivered at the end.

Sarah's face was crestfallen. This poor creature was taking it hard, she thought to herself. She put an arm around his shoulders, hoping that was an appropriate gesture. "I … don't know, Boober."

Boober sniffled. "Heh … at least you're honest," he replied, looking up at her. "All my friends said it was definitely going to be okay." His voice tensed. "But what if it _isn't_? What if this marks the end of our race? What will happen to my laundry? I mean, those shirts and socks aren't going to wash themselves…."

Sarah cocked an eyebrow. "You do laundry?" she asked skeptically. She smiled, trying to make a joke, "Maybe you could give my brother some pointers. There's a whole room filled with dirty laundry."

Boober turned his head toward the back door.

"Boober," Sarah continued in a slight panic, "I didn't mean to make light of your situation. It was a bad attempt at humor."

Boober glanced back at her as if dazed. "Huh? Oh," he replied, shaking his head, "I'm not offended. I was just wondering why I didn't bring my bleach nuts with me. Maybe a little laundry would ease my mind. Nothing is as comforting as stain removal."

Sarah couldn't help but smile. So, she thought to herself, this would be what _she_ would be like as a Fraggle.

Boober noticed her expression. "So, you're not into the whole 'eternal optimist' thing either, right?" He paused, pointing to himself. "You're like me?"

Sarah took her arm off and stared at the moon. "I consider myself a realist, not a pessimist. I just want things to be normal."

Boober nodded. "Me too." He waited a few minutes before continuing in a quieter voice. "Everyone always thinks I dampen the mood. _They're_ the ones who never think about the consequences of their actions. No one listens to me when I tell them we get away with everything we get away with because of nothing but sheer dumb luck, that's all."

Sarah nodded. She found talking to Boober easier than she would have expected. "People are like that, too. My brother thinks I'm an idiot for not jumping at the chance to do something fantastic and magical. He doesn't listen to me, _really_ listen, anyway. If I had accepted the offer to leave my world and live carefree in a magical land … it would stop being magical!" she exclaimed, passion increasing in her voice. "My dreams would become normal! I'd go from trying to make a living here to trying to make a living there!" Tears started welling up in her eyes. "Someone I loved very much … well, _grew_ to love … would stop being the man of my dreams. I don't want to take that away from him, Boober. He's practically the King of my entire Universe," she continued wistfully. "The last thing I want to do is take away his specialness."

Boober patted Sarah's hand with his own, making her flinch slightly. He sighed, not responding for several minutes, letting the cool night air take away their heavy thoughts. "I … feel the same way," he said finally. He sang a short, melancholic, wistful verse…

_You and I,_

_We nearly cried,_

_Although … our love was strong._

_And by and by,_

_We'd start … to sing … along…_

Sarah wiped away her tears and stroked his back. "You have someone like that?" Boober nodded silently, trying to keep from sobbing. Sarah continued, "She didn't come with your group? Maybe we can head over to the theaters and see if she's with them."

Boober shook his head, sniffling. He wiped his nose with his scarf. "No, she stayed behind. Mokey." He made a fist. "She just _had_ to be the hero! She's getting as bad as Gobo and Red! What is she going to do? Paint the bad guy a picture? Offer them a radish from the Gorg's garden? Why can't she just run and hide … like we … like … _I_ … did?"

"And you regret your decision?"

Boober stared at Sarah in disbelief. "_You're_ one to talk! No offense, but it sounds like your boyfriend needs you … and all you can do is put on a play and hide in the back yard!" He pulled away from her. "I'm … I'm sorry. I'm just really stressed. I just want everything to get better. I … want Mokey to be safe, to be herself again."

Sarah fought back tears. Had she really been selfish all those years? Had she avoided helping those who needed _her_? All throughout her adulthood, she tried to keep from needing her friends from the Goblin Kingdom. She didn't want to appear as though she couldn't handle problems herself. Now … she was aware that perhaps she should have wondered if _they_ needed her, if _Jareth_ needed her. And here was a whole race of beings who faced extinction … and she was the only hold-out … the only one who hadn't risen to the challenge willingly.

"I know, Boober," she said amidst sobs. "I wish I knew how to save your home."

And just as Boober expressed his thanks, a flash of inspiration hit Sarah like a nuclear bomb.

Sarah stood up, nearly flinging Boober off the swing. She pounded her fist into her palm. "I need to get to the theater!"

* * *

At the edge of the lake below Mizumi's castle, an obese young woman with short thick black pigtails, dark freckles on her cheeks, and black lipstick stood. She wore a patched-together blouse with a broad frilled collar and knee-length shorts that threatened to fall off her rotund form. She licked her lips as she spied a few small minnows in a shallow pool.

"Drumlin?" a sultry voice asked.

Drumlin turned to find Mizumi standing next to her. "Care for some fish, Mum?" she offered in a gargly voice as though she were heavily congested. She grunted as she stooped over, inhaling deeply, the waters of the shallow pool vanishing into her through her mouth and nose. She snorted, her face slightly fuller than it was before. She picked up a couple flopping fish, but her fingers were so thick she snuffed out their lives immediately. "Huh," she shrugged, tossing the snapped minnows back with the dying others. She turned toward her mother. "I don't see why we don't attack already, Mum," she continued as though nothing had happened. "The Gorgs are without a King, so it's not like we have to observe the rules."

"Despite my temper, we are still a civilized kingdom, my dear daughter," Mizumi replied with a smile. "I offered a chance for McMooch to redeem himself. I must abide by it."

Drumlin shrugged, the water in her belly sloshing audibly. "You know he's gonna stab you in the back, Mum."

Mizumi blew her daughter a kiss. "Of course he will. However, I need an excuse to execute him. Failing to eliminate a simple Oracle is all I need. After the Gorgs are finally eliminated, perhaps you and your sister can run the place. I hear there's a fantastic ever-present flood in the basement. You'll feel right at home."

Drumlin bowed, smiling greedily.

* * *

High atop the north tower of a large beige stone castle, a lone figure held a crystal ball, which showed a car speeding through the busy streets of New York. A chime went off somewhere deep within the castle. The figure smiled, his cloak rustling as he shrunk, turning into a beige-and-white barn owl. As the full moon illuminated the surrounding area, the owl flew off in the direction of a place he never thought he'd ever return to.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

(Spring, 2011AD)

_No one can blame you,_

_For walking away_ ….

Sarah turned off the radio as she pulled into the staff parking area of the theater. She knew that crown was the solution to the Fraggles' problem, even if she didn't know quite why. She quickly tied up her dark brown hair, leaving several strands dangling around her face. As she fumbled with her keys to the back door, she realized she knew why she had discovered the solution. After years of trying to avoid it, she had made a wish … she had re-connected with a magical gift given to her by Jareth decades ago.

This was the first time she wasn't repulsed by the idea.

Hundreds of Fraggles were sprawled out on the floor throughout the theater corridors, sleeping soundly. She tried to tiptoe around them. It would be dawn soon, but surely these creatures deserved to sleep in. She worked her way to the basement, when she discovered Rick working on the crown. He gasped, nearly dropping the now-shiny crown on the floor.

"Christ, Ms. Williams … you nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm an old man, y'know!" he exclaimed bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said quietly. "I need the crown."

Rick stared at her. "You … need … the … crown," he repeated very slowly. "_This_ crown? Why?"

Sarah realized telling him the truth would just sound weird. "Uh, there are some … um … production stills I need to make for some flyers."

Rick cocked an eyebrow. "At three-thirty in the morning?"

Sarah scoffed, trying to hide her insecurity. After all, it was _his_ crown, right? What claim could she possibly have on it? "And yet _you're_ messing around a closed theater this early in the morning?"

Rick chuckled. "Your boss told me to babysit that furry little firecracker and her friends … for an extra thousand." He smirked. "So …."

Sarah sighed, brushing strands of hair from her face. "How much do you want for it?"

Rick shook his head. "It's a pricey family heirloom," he replied. "I don't think you can afford it."

Sarah took a few steps closer, her voice slightly more stern. "A family heirloom that you keep in a theater basement?"

Rick licked his lips. "I suppose … for fifty thousand, I could tell myself that it's for the greater good and all…."

Sarah's eyes got so wide they threatened to pop out of her head. She even forgot to breathe. After a few seconds, she finally managed to screech, "_Fifty thousand?_" She shook her head, trying to get her voice under control. "You know what? Fine. Fifty …."

A sharp high-pitched gasp interrupted her. "Nicky! How _could_ you?" exclaimed a female voice.

Rick and Sarah turned to find Miss Piggy (whom Sarah knew only from her media work) standing in the doorway, her golden-blonde hair curling slightly at the neck, a somewhat small-for-her-size robin's egg-colored sequined gown, lavender elbow-length gloves, and a pearl necklace hanging loosely around her thick neck.

Piggy's eyes were widened, her mouth gaping open. She placed a gloved hand on her chest and spoke in a sing-song manner. "I couldn't believe it!" she told "Nicky", trying to sound as innocent and dainty as she could. "I came here looking for vous, and one of those hamster things told me you had stolen a crown!"

Red Fraggle, her fiery hair down against her back, and wearing a pink robe, appeared beside Piggy and jabbed her with an elbow, her face frowning. "We are _Fraggles_, not _hamsters_, lady," she snapped, glaring up at the pig's face.

"Whatever, kid," Piggy growled, not looking at her. She maintained her glare at Nicky. "I thought you promised moi you were different!" She started to growl again. "I'm not goin' back to the slammer just because you can't keep your klepto meathooks off someone else's property!"

Sarah gawked at the stagehand. "You _stole_ this crown?"

The old man ignored her. He smiled warmly, trying to sweet-talk his way out of this situation. "Piggy," he started in the most suave voice he could muster at his age, "those Caribbean cruises don't pay for themselves, my dear." He pointed at the crown. "I was fashioning this _myself_! I was gonna sell it on eBay and use the money to get us some VIP tickets to a swank European concert!" He pouted through his smirk. "I only want the best for you, my dear."

Red shoved her way past Piggy, jabbing a finger angrily at the male Silly Creature. "You _stole_ that crown! That was Junior's!"

"Prove it!" Rick/Nicky retorted tauntingly.

Piggy lowered her head. "I … I believe you, Red," she stated mournfully. "Nicky has a teensy-weensy little problem with risk-taking behavior." She roared, "_He knows it's a risk to upset moi_!" Piggy nodded at the crown. "You two return this crown to its rightful owner, s'il vous plait," she continued with her normal melodious tone. Like flipping a coin, her voice changed back to a snarl. "_I'll_ deal with _him_."

"Now, Piggy, my beautiful basket of bacon," Nicky began as Sarah and Red grabbed the crown and took off for the Fraggle hole upstairs on the backstage wall. They could hear some yelling and crashing as they reached the hole which was very large, though Sarah would have to bend her head a little.

They ran through the tunnel, lit without lights somehow, Sarah noted. Red led the way as Sarah carried the awkward crown. Red yelled back as she ran, "Hey, you want me to carry that?"

Sarah panted a little. "No, it's okay. It's as big as _you_!"

Red groaned. "Please! I pump granite every morning!" She dodged into a tunnel to the right. "It can't be _that_ heavy!"

Sarah remembered dashing away from the Cleaners, who operated a large drill-like device in the bowels of the Labyrinth. Middle age wasn't helping her at all, she noted to herself. Time to renew that gym membership…. She ducked to avoid a stalactite. "The back wall of the … _crap_ … theater is only five feet thick! How does this tunnel keep going?"

Red paused as they came to a room with multiple tunnels, shrugging. "I dunno," she replied absent-mindedly. "Magic, I guess."

Sarah chuckled. "Ah." She noticed Red seemed indecisive. "Are we lost?"

Red put her hands on her hips. "Of _course_ I'm not lost! I'm not Gobo's Uncle Matt!" she replied, annoyed. "I'm trying to think of tunnels that you can fit into without scraping your head on the ceiling!" She finally bounded toward a wide tunnel on the left. "Don't worry … it shouldn't take more than an hour to reach the Gorg's garden."

* * *

Junior Gorg awoke in his bed, feeling very stuffy. He wished there were a way to move the stale air of the castle. It gave him permanent sinus trouble. He sat up on the edge of his bed, removed his radish-printed pajama shirt, and began to rummage around his nightstand for his usual khaki jacket. When he closed a drawer and looked up, he noticed two figures cloaked in brown robes, one slightly taller than the other. Both were around six feet, thought Junior. The taller one pulled back its hood, revealing a dark-skinned female with sea-green shoulder-length hair and matching gown. She let the robe fall gracefully to the top of the nightstand on which she stood. Her head was adorned with broken knick-knacks. Her face beamed, a gentle smile caressing her features. The other one removed its hood, revealing a more male look, with feathered blond hair that also reached to his shoulders. His features were more chiseled, his eyes marked with strong black liner. He wore a stern expression. Both, however, congratulated him on his five-hundredth birthday.

Junior could not help but gawk at his visitors. "Wh – what do you want fwom me?" he asked in a whisper, so as not to awaken his parents, who slept a few rooms down.

The blond-haired one spoke with a smooth deep voice. "The safety of the universe is at risk. We have come to fulfill the prophecies."

Junior sighed, wiggling his feet and rubbing his hands together. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said reluctantly. "I gotta take my wightful place as King of da Universe or my Fwaggle fwiends could all die." Junior pointed at each of them, asking them who they were.

The female nodded toward the male. He replied, "You know me as Sir Hubris, former King of the Universe."

Junior stood up, grabbed the male in his large brown furry hand, and shook his head. "Uh-uh … da Fwaggles twied that on me alweady many ye-uhs ago. Nice twy, Gobo."

"Sir Hubris" frowned. "Do I _look_ like a Fraggle, you overgrown buffoon?"

Junior stared at the being in his hand. He didn't _feel_ like a Fraggle. Junior gasped, nearly dropping the Legend, and flung him back onto the nightstand. Junior fell to the ground, bowing repeatedly, sobbing uncontrollably. "Suh Hubwis! It weally _is_ you!" he cried in a full-fledged panic. "I – I – I would give you da cwown you gave my ancestuhs … but … but," he stammered, his heart racing, "… but I thwew it away! I nevah found out where it went, neither! And now you're gonna tell me and my family we have to go wandah da universe _forevah_!" He blubbered still.

Junior noticed a small hand on his quivering chin. He looked up, his eyes crossing at the sight of the female, she was so close. She laughed cheerfully, with a tinge of sympathy. "Dear Junior Gorg," she began, her voice silky and calming, "even a lost heart can be found again … why not your crown?" She looked up at the nightstand where "Sir Hubris" clutched his torso from the aching he felt. He stood up and rolled his eyes.

Lummox, he thought to himself. Sighing, he replied, "Since I cannot fulfill the legend and take back what was mine, the legend is negated."

"Wh – what does that mean?" asked Junior, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"It means," Sir Hubris noted irritatingly, "that the legend foretold I would return to take your crown. Since you _have_ no crown, the legend no longer has any meaning. It must be started anew." He pointed to Junior's bedroom door. "Go to your family and celebrate your birthday. For later this morn … you will yet again be King."

* * *

Wander McMooch sighed, leaning against the tremendous gate that led to the Gorg property as the sun rose above the horizon. He had inflated himself to almost six-and-a-half feet high, since he knew he would be visited by Mizumi's daughter, Drumlin. He had only seen her when she was a young child, before his banishment. He wore a shaggy red coat with a leopard-print collar and a pink broad-rimmed hat with a couple of feathers in a wide white band.

The ground started to vibrate in short intervals. He looked to the right and saw nothing out of the ordinary. However, when he looked to his left, he spied an obese brunette woman stomping toward him. Small puddles disappeared as she walked past them. She seemed to grow marginally larger each time. Wander gulped as she approached, taking a couple of steps back.

"You're bigger than I remember," gargled Drumlin.

Wander retorted, "You aren't exactly petite either, sweetie."

Drumlin frowned and grabbed Wander by the throat. He could feel himself shrink as she drained him of moisture. She let go after he had reduced in size by a foot or so. She laughed maliciously. "Is the Oracle dead already? Or am I gonna have to do it myself?"

Wander gasped for breath. His whole body ached from the sudden loss of moisture. He tightened his coat around him. He hoped he could get through this conversation without dying. He bowed. "Milady, the Trash Heap is just _far_ too powerful for me," he whined. "Perhaps I could show you where she is. Far on the other side of the Gorg property lies the Oracle, beloved by … ugh … Fraggles and Gorgs alike. She's behind a great tree by their well."

Drumlin nodded, called him a filthy coward, and went with him across the Gorg front lawn, where they could hear singing and dancing inside the tremendously huge Gorg castle. As they approached the great tree, Drumlin chuckled eerily. "I hope this goes by quickly … I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

Wander asked absent-mindedly, "Oh? What did you bring with you?"

Drumlin smiled, licking her lips. "Bufonidae burritos," she replied, rubbing her ample tummy.

Wander shivered uncontrollably for a moment. They rounded the tree … to find a large pile of dark mud. Wander jerked back in surprise, shaking his head vigorously. "Nonononono," he stuttered, "she should _be_ here! She can't move on her own!" He zoomed back and forth around the space, searching high and low. "Even Philo and Gunge can't move her! This is absolutely impossible!"

Drumlin adjusted her patched-together blouse, shrugging. She stooped down to the pile of mud, inspecting it. "And you're sure she can't teleport?"

Wander moved back a foot or two. "No – at least, not herself, anyways," he replied, quivering.

Drumlin stroked her chin. "Gorgs probably did something with her. Perhaps they were warned …?" She glared at McMooch, who felt as though he were about to faint. "I'll see if there are any clues here … before you're punished for your idiotic failure." She reached toward the top of the pile of mud, absorbed most of the moisture in it, leaving behind a dried pile of dust, which blew away in a sudden breeze. She stood up, engorged with moisture, and noted satisfactorily, "Hm, berries, fruit, and some chocolate cake, I think."

Wander nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Yes! Junior Gorg is celebrating his birthday today! They must have hidden her in their kitchen!"

She listened for the continued sounds of partying. "Well, let's go pay them a visit, shall we?" She turned and wobbled off toward the castle. However, a few feet around the tree, Drumlin groaned, rubbing her belly. Wander kept a safe distance from her, out of sight. He could hear her cough violently. The sound of dripping made him come just close enough to see her sweating heavily. She gargled up water from her throat. She glanced at him with hatred out the corners of her eyes.

McMooch cackled. "Don't you remember why I was banished, you fat, frelling fae?" he taunted. "I poisoned the lake water underneath your Mommy's castle! You've just absorbed about thirty pounds of water laced with concentrated greaseberry juice. It's the slickest stuff in the universe!" He laughed maniacally. "Soon you'll just fall apart from the inside out!" He continued to laugh as she gurgled and gargled and died, spilling into a veritable pool of water.

Wander decided it was time to high-tail it out of there. He started to zoom away in the opposite direction, toward the entry to Fraggle Rock, when he was stopped mid-zoom by a dark-skinned woman, who smirked triumphantly. "Are we ready to head back to the Trash Kingdom, Wander?" she asked.

"Are you certain Mizumi can't find me there?" he pleaded. "She'll kill me for what I've done!" He bows, shaking. "You know, I never _really_ wanted to kill your daughter, right? I mean, we had our little disagreements … but I swear I could _never_ harm Marjory!"

The Queen of Trash patted McMooch on his head, smiling sympathetically. "Wander McMooch … you are an immoral toad tossed away like garbage from your own home," she told him. "But in my kingdom I can breathe life into _anything_ thrown away … so long as they are treasured by _someone_. I have no doubts I can re-purpose even _you_." She teleported them both to her kingdom; far away from the Gorgs, the Fraggles, and Moraine.

* * *

In the main room of the Gorg castle, the three Gorgs sang songs, with many creatures from deep within Fraggle Rock (who now stayed with the Gorgs) providing backup:

_Once there's Ma and once there's Pa,_

_Sang of love forever…._

_Junior plays and Junior sways…_

_Hey! He's so clever!_

Pa slapped his son on his back, nearly bowling him over onto various Doozers and other creatures, laughing. He sang the next two lines:

_Five-hundred – it's not long at all!_

_The rest … just get better!_

Then, the whole group sang:

_Out the door, five hundred more!_

_Sing! Altogether!_

_Sing! Altogether!_

Just as they finished singing, they heard a scream from low in the wall. Red came running out of a hole in the wall, followed by a female Silly Creature … with the …

… with the …

… _crown_ ….

The three Gorgs gasped … and so did Sarah, who was completely unprepared for the size of these beings. She bent her neck back to see them. She gulped, feeling her knees tremble. They soon heard a rustling sound, as a tiny bird fluttered in onto the Gorg's dining table, transformed into "Sir Hubris", and bowed.

"Suh Hubwis!" Junior exclaimed.

Pa and Ma nearly fell backwards in shock. "Sir _Hubris_?"

"Jareth," Sarah gasped.

Jareth smirked, avoiding Sarah's presence. "You'll forgive me if I make this quick. Time _is_ short." He inhaled deeply. "Millennia ago, a Gorg was made King of the Universe. At the time, I promised to return to the land of Gorgs to take back what was mine."

Pa and Ma clutched each others' hands, terrified of the news to come. For the legend foretold that Hubris would run them from their home.

Jareth continued with a hurried voice. "Yet, as fate would have it, the kingship was rejected. Having broken the spell, Junior Gorg, you have set your fate upon an unknown path. If you wish, I shall crown you King of the Universe. It will be your task to rule the Universe as you see fit, for good or ill. Junior Gorg, what say you?"

All eyes turned to Junior. You could hear a pin drop, despite how many creatures were present.

Junior bowed his head, shuffling his feet nervously. He bit his lower lip.

"You can do it, Junior!" Sarah belted out unexpectedly. Her voice was filled with certainty and passion. "You can't have 'no' for an answer! From everything I've heard about you … I _know_ you can be a great Gorg king!"

"Weally?" Junior asked, awe-inspired that a strange being would just offer that out of the blue. He nodded. "I, Junior Gorg, humbly accept the cwown fwom Suh Hubwis, so I can pwotect the cweatures I have come to love and wespect!" As he finished proclaiming his acceptance, the crown vanished from Sarah's hands and appeared on top of Junior's head, sparkling with a newly-polished sheen.

The crowd of creatures broke into loud applause, cheering and whooping wildly. When the noise died down, Jareth turned to Sarah and Red, his face filled with worry. "Return to New York," he told them. "Do not stay in Fraggle Rock. Mizumi is on her way and … she is … _upset_."

"What about Madame Heap?" Red bellowed so that Jareth could hear her. "I'm not leaving if she's not safe!"

"Madame Heap is in danger?" Junior asked, his eyes wide. Why didn't he know this?

Jareth shook his head. "She and her companions have been taken to safety to the Trash Kingdom. Go!" he barked. "You each have your parts to play! You have played them well … now leave, before it's too late!" He noticed Sarah's disappointed expression. He smiled warmly. "Sarah … protect the Fraggles. I cannot protect them from here. We need you."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

(Spring, 2011AD)

Mizumi's carriage arrived shortly before noon to the Gorg property. She leapt out, her silver gown slightly more blue than her hair. She rushed to the Gorg castle … met by Junior Gorg, who wore a purple robe … and a royal crown. He brandished a golden scepter decorated with scenes from Gorgous the Great's life, topped with a black crystal orb. His brow was furrowed … his voice sure. "You are invading the Great Kingdom of da Gorgs," he bellowed sternly. "Weturn to your home or I will _slay_ you!"

Mizumi cursed silently to herself. Somehow, some way … the oaf was king again. By the looks of the scepter … Jareth had a hand in this. Mizumi, however, would not be turned away so easily. She fumed. "My _daughter_ was killed on your property, Gorg!" she screamed. "I demand restitution – you will permit my entry into Fraggle Rock!"

"Weally?" Junior asked, his serious tone suddenly turning into innocence. "Uh, yo-uh daughtuh was _thumped_?" He waved to the surrounding area. "Here?" He shrugged, his voice a bit more casual. "_I_ didn't do it!"

She glared at an opponent easily more than thrice her size. "You, Your 'Majesty', are responsible for my pain! I demand you let me enter!"

The King of the Gorgs stared at his scepter, nodding slightly. He glanced back down at the queen with the ever-reddening face. He tried to sound "royal" again. "Not only was your daughter here to hurt wesidents of my domain," he began, "but it was a citizen of yo-uh own countwy who thumped her! Now begone … and come here no more!"

* * *

Cantus, the Minstrel, peered hesitantly out of the hole that led to the Gorg's garden. The time had come, he knew. He had heard the soft nervous whispers of the Rock: _The drop becomes the stream becomes the pond becomes the flood_. He saw a powerful sorceress threaten the Gorg King. If he exhaled completely and closed his eyes, he could just hear water flowing through her. He understood that this was the danger that threatened the Rock. He smirked. Fraggles were known to be lovers of water … there were even fully aquatic Fraggles called Merggles who had adapted specifically to the medium. The mystical Minstrel had a love of irony, and this, dangerous as it was, brought him a modicum of amusement. Cantus felt a nearly exhausted presence behind him. Without turning, he whispered, "Is everyone out of the Rock?"

A higher-pitched version of his voice with a certain tenseness lacking in the Minstrel responded, "Yes, except for Mokey … she said she found a cave far out into the Rock, closer to the Cave." He took a few breaths. "She swears it will work."

Cantus nodded. "Mokey … and the Song that sings for her … listen well to the Song of the Rock. If they say it will work … it will." Cantus turned, placing an arm on the other Fraggle's shoulder. The other Fraggle had gray skin, a messy tangle of black hair, a short black mustache, and a dark purple jacket over a black shirt with a white collar. He seemed a little cross-eyed.

The other Fraggle wiggled his nose, his arms slightly trembling, his belubious puffed out. "Do you think this will work? I've never sung without them before."

Cantus smiled warmly. "John, you want them to be safe, don't you?"

"Well, yeah."

Cantus patted Convincing John on the shoulder. "As long as this creature has few targets…."

"You mean 'us'…."

Cantus nodded and continued, "… then we need not fear for the safety of the Rock. The other Minstrels are with the Silly Creatures in Outer Space. This is the only way we can protect our home."

John snorted in amusement. "Are you trying to convince you or _me_?"

They both smiled and turned back to the hole, where the sorceress was still arguing with the Gorg King.

"She looks pretty powerful," John noted, adjusting his collar to give himself some more breathing room.

"Mm," Cantus replied, nodding.

John coughed. "How many verses do you think it will take to convince a sorceress like her?"

"Twelve, minimum," Cantus answered immediately. When John gagged and nearly fainted, a small smirk appeared on Cantus' face.

John shook his head, sighing, placing his hand on his chest. "Don't _tease_ me like that!"

After they had watched for a few more moments, John leaned back against the tunnel wall and sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small cloth from one of his jacket pockets. John cleared his throat. "I don't know how you do it, Cantus," he said. "No matter what gets thrown at you, you just bounce back like it was just a soft breeze. I've tried and tried, but I just can't seem to get the hang of it." He noticed Cantus staring at him without a response. John continued, "I'm an awful wembler --."

"Everyone is a wembler," Cantus acknowledged softly. He shook his head slowly. "I've never met anyone too definite … at least, I don't think I have," he said, looking back through the hole to make sure the sorceress wasn't approaching.

Convincing John sighed, exasperated. "Cantus … I … I just … _can't_. You make music that makes flowers grow, while I sing to get Fraggles to do whatever strange thought goes through my head at the time. I'll never match you."

Cantus gently put his hands on both of John's shoulders. He stared straight into John's eyes painfully for several moments before stating softly, "I've tried to save her, John. I've tried to elicit every song I can think of from her … but I can't save her. I need _you_ to work on her some."

John trembled. "What's … I mean … where are _you_ going?" He shook his head. "I _know_ you're not telling me that --."

"I'm telling you that I'm auditioning you for a verse, nothing more," Cantus replied. He pulled away and smiled that calm, warm smile of his. "It may be nothing. I may, despite a lack of history of it, be actually wrong." He smiled wider. "I hope I am. What has become of Mokey may yet prove to be one of her greatest strengths." He sighed. "I just want someone like you to be there for her in case I'm right."

"But I don't have that kind of power!" John protested.

Cantus shook his head. His voice got sterner. "Don't make me argue with you, John. I'm the one Fraggle your songs don't affect. What do I have to do to _convince_ you that you, too, can make the Ditzies glow and the flowers bloom?" He waved toward the back of the tunnel. "If you sang one of your convincing songs to a poison cackler, you could make it harmless. If you sang one of your convincing songs to a boulder, it would move out of your way." He sighed again. "John … you may not sing _my_ song, but you sing a song just as powerful. You just have to believe in yourself."

* * *

Mizumi was now just out of Junior's reach, assuming he didn't lunge for her. She stretched out her hand. Junior felt a strange sensation, as though he were sweating profusely to the point of collapse. A fine mist traveled from his fur to her palm. Mizumi had not wanted to battle the goblins, for they were stupid but plentiful and obstinate. However, there were just three Gorgs here … and none had experience with a real battle (or so she had heard). Although they were gigantic, Gorgs typically kept to themselves, never venturing far from their territory. Mizumi could feel the sheer strength of the Gorg King. He was far more powerful than the largest ogre she had ever come across. She could feel his fear and his thoughts about his parents and his desire to see the universe.

"Daddy," Junior mumbled as he wobbled back and forth. So, he thought, this was what it felt to be thumped by magic.

The orb atop the scepter turned into a barn owl and flew in circles before taking off away from the castle.

Mizumi stopped her attack on the Gorg King and glared at this sudden development. "Jareth!" she roared. "You will not escape me!" As the bird flew towards the Gorg well, Mizumi became like a fog … a furious fog that rushed toward the well. Within minutes she was atop the edge of the well, returning to her normal form just long enough to see the owl dive far into the caves below, pulling out of the dive slightly to the right. She became like a waterfall and flowed in torrents into the well. She flew past the Fraggle Pond, towards the back of the Great Hall, following the bird intently, without a thought for anything else. Nothing but the echoing splashes could be heard throughout the Rock.

After nearly half an hour of chasing the agile little owl, Mizumi pushed herself to her limits and caught up, turning back into her usual form, clutching the fowl's thick neck, only to be astonished as it transformed …

… becoming …

… a furry, brown …

… _thing_.

It smiled, though as shaggy as the fur on its face was, it was hard to tell. "Hi!" it exclaimed cheerfully in a high-pitched grating voice. "Gosh, you're pretty!" It waved with one hand as it clutched her arm with another. He was roughly three feet tall. His legs dangled above the ground. He reminded her of a really, _really_ shaggy dog with no tail. He grunted as she held him fast against the cave tunnel wall. "Uh … do you want me to be a dog? I've never seen one before. What does it look like?"

She dropped him and took a couple steps back. Her face was frozen in shock. "What … are you?" she asked in a whisper.

The creature rubbed its neck and perked up. "I am called Skenfrith, Milady," he replied with a smile. He pointed at her. "You want it … I _become_ it!" He shrugged, as though anticipating her next reaction to being tricked. "And you can't hurt me … it was already pointed out to me that everything will turn out alright!"

Mizumi's tone grew deadly. "Is that so?" she asked, tightening her fists. She had been hoodwinked … _again_ … by the most powerful being she had ever met. She didn't know whether to eviscerate Jareth or throw him to the ground in a passionate embrace.

A trilling melody made Mizumi gasp. It reminded her of rainfall dropping on metal. She looked to her left. Down a broad tunnel, she saw two small shadows, leaping playfully as the melody continued. Fraggles, she decided silently. The melody stopped, and she heard similar voices laugh.

She walked toward the infuriating sound. "How _dare_ you mock me?" she hissed, forgetting the empathic shape-shifter. "Your allegiance to the Goblin King shall ruin all of you!"

Immediately after her warning, the melody started up again, but segued into a rousing gospel-like melody, which resonated in the tunnels. One of the shadows began to sing frantically:

_Now listen to me, honey,_

_We're laughin' 'cause it's funny,_

_Because we haven't got anything to lose..._

"That's _your_ opinion!" shouted the livid Queen of Cups. She chased them through tunnel after winding tunnel, the same rousing tune angering her more and more. She nearly overtook them in a large cave filled with multicolored crystals. One was a relatively tall orange-yellow Fraggle with a long robe, while the other was a short gray one with a loud purple jacket. The gray one continued to sing most of the lines, with the other one backing him up:

_After all, Queen, you're used to power,_

_And you're as pretty as a flower,_

_But you have never before heard our tunes (heard our tunes)._

_And you can try to snatch us, try to catch us, but now with Cantus,_

_There's a magic even you cannot deny (not deny),_

_And we're a hummin' though you're comin' but, you see, our song … just … can't … die! (It lives on!)_

As they reached the chorus, the melody slowed a bit, becoming less like a shouting match and more like an actual song:

_Yeah! Listen to Convincing John,_

_And all your troubles will be gone._

_I'm gonna tell it, spell it, sell it,_

_Just for you!_

They separated for a moment, dashing among the various crystalline structures, which seemed to glow in sync with the melody. As Mizumi chased them out of the cave, they continued to sing. As they sang, as the music played, she noticed how much brighter and livelier the tunnels were. But it made no difference, she vowed to herself: she would not rest until they were all destroyed, down to the very last leaf of the very last plant.

_So, now we're getting closer,_

_And I make a good composer,_

_And if it's answers you seek, then you shall find (find)._

_So follow us to the cave,_

_Though you may want to rant and rave,_

_Because you think we're gonna leave you behind (behind)!_

The air got mustier as they continued. Mizumi could see flickering lights up ahead.

_We have a spell, and we have a smell,_

_For there wasn't any bath at the hotel,_

_Therefore we really hope that you don't mind (mind)._

_The cave is near, the cave is HERE!_

_Now our destinies are intertwined!_

The taller one sang the chorus as they entered a very large cave, nearly barking the words, they were so forceful:

_Listen to Convincing John!_

_And all your troubles will be gone!_

_He's gonna tell it, spell it, sell it,_

_Just for you!_

Mizumi stopped. The cave was rather large, well over three feet above her own head. Torches hung on the walls, illuminating several drawings, most of a very primitive nature. Many seemed to identify ancient human activities. However, shadows cast by the various rock formations prevented her from seeing the images further along in the cave. In the center of the cave, a light purple Fraggle female sat cross-legged, chanting silently to herself. Mizumi felt drawn to this Fraggle. By now she realized she was being set up. However, what Fraggle magic could harm her? What was this song supposed to accomplish? Was she to dance herself to death? Perhaps it was merely a delay tactic. All this, though, she mused to herself, was awfully … well-thought-out … for a small group of dancing rodents.

She decided to see what the female Fraggle was up to. Unlike her departed daughter, her absorption powers could materialize thoughts, allowing her to know what her opponent knew. The only reason she had ended her attack on the Gorg King was that she discovered he truly did not know about Drumlin's death. Besides, she admitted to herself reluctantly, she had become hopelessly vindictive. She wanted to punish everyone, _everywhere_ … all for her humiliation. She stretched out her hand, feeling the creature's thoughts enter her. Strange, she thought: there were two sets of thoughts. Possession? She saw humans and humanoids … and a strange crustacean-like entity bound to a living vehicle … all within the deep reaches of the universe. As she delved deeper into the being's unconscious … an image of a blue, elegant (and bald) woman appeared. The woman smiled. "Are you certain you wish to continue? I'm not known for being completely pacifistic."

Mizumi pulled away, amazed at the strength of the mind within the lowly creature. As her mind began to clear of the images, she realized the others were still singing:

_Now then, let Mokey go, Queenie,_

_You don't want to seem a meanie,_

_She can't answer if you let her choke (choke)!_

_Put her down and you will succeed,_

_And you will find you have a need,_

_To realize this is not some sick joke!_

_Listen to Convincing John,_

_And all your troubles will be go-o-one…_

Suddenly, the flute's melody transformed into a more complex melody, one that seemed to lighten the cave somewhat and bring it to life. Flowers began to bloom. The air took on more pleasant smells. Mizumi looked for the Fraggles, who had joined hands, bobbing up and down and humming. An acrid smoke rose from the ground. The Queen of Moraine coughed, her skin irritated by the particles in the air. She lunged toward the trio to stop them from their bizarre ritual … but the smoke became too thick. It threatened to choke her.

After about fifteen _very long_ seconds, Mizumi felt a strong chill in the air. The smoke dissipated. She coughed to expel the last of the smoke from her throat and began searching for the Fraggles, who had disappeared. Perhaps it was a teleportation spell, she mused. They must have hidden themselves further within the cave. No matter … she would hunt them down and kill them slowly, perhaps using the pools in Fraggle Rock to drown them. She heard strange footsteps further down the tunnel where they had entered. She followed the sound and came across a set of small nearly hairless brown creatures with large heads, not even a foot tall. They gasped as they noticed her. Soon, they began chatting among themselves in some meaningless tongue, and motioned for her to follow them.

As she followed the small creatures, a feeling of unease took over her. It was too cold. It was too cold … and … the air didn't feel right. She clapped her hands loudly to startle the small beings. They glanced at her nervously, stopping dead in their tracks. She told them solemnly, "I am looking for small furry creatures obsessed with singing. Bring me to them, or I will kill you all." They looked at each other, chattered some more unintelligibly, and motioned for her to follow. They brought her to a large opening, where sunlight was very weak. Clouds covered most of the sky near the horizons. The opening appeared on a high cliff, looking over a sprawling valley. Geysers erupted here and there in various clearings in a forest where the trees were barely thriving. She could hear jazz-like music wafting up from a dying area of the woods. The tiny creatures pointed in that direction, nodding enthusiastically, and dashed back off deep into the cave. No matter, she reflected, for I do not need them.

As she reached the bottom of the cliff, a burst of steam blew her backwards. She screamed and writhed in agony, her skin seared by the high temperatures of the geyser. She struggled to stand, but the pain was immeasurable. Her gown was nearly destroyed, barely hanging off her skin. The clothes burned her skin, so she removed them. Every inch of her made her feel as though she were being boiled alive. She attempted to reach the place where she heard the music. She would make them pay for this.

The cold air was the only benefit to this whole debacle, she thought bitterly to herself. Her skin was bright red and beginning to peel in places. As she neared the source of the music, she could hear some deep gravelly vocals, set to a blues number:

_Quicksand … sucked my momma down_ ….

Mizumi entertained herself with the thought that she was close to getting her revenge. Suddenly, a metal trap beneath her feet snapped shut, bringing the barely ambulatory Queen down with a crash. She cried out in anguish.

"Hm," stated a very gravelly voice that varied in pitch somewhat, "_this_ one's rather … uh … unconventional." A long pause, followed by multiple voices chuckling. "Perhaps this particular species is … evolving at a much faster rate due to adverse environmental pressures."

Another pause. This time, a deeper, smoother male voice with a bit of an accent and a hint of a hissing quality spoke with bemusement, "Maybe, Crazy Lou. Let's just get down ta business, shall we, ladies and gentlemen?"

Mizumi, through her squinted and tear-filled eyes, spotted a large hulking shape approaching her … a purple bipedal lizard, taller than the average fae or human, with a pale yellow underside, small horns emanating from its brows and the side of its triangular head, a black leather jacket … and … and … a long thick tail with four spikes on the end, one of which was broken. Her eyes widened as the pain dulled. She glanced around. There was another bipedal reptilian with pale brown skin, a broad face, tiny round eyeglasses, and the same black leather jacket style. Yet another approached nearby … an athletic creature with green scales, dark sunglasses, and a Mohawk of sorts consisting of long pale green spines. This one spoke, its voice reminiscent of Jareth's dwarf Hoggle, except that it sounded younger and more intelligent and not nearly as rough on the vocal chords, "She's not exactly dead yet, guys. Maybe it's too soon to start ripping off her flesh from her bones."

The purple one looked up in shock. He shook his head, sighing disgustedly. "We're not gonna go t'rough dis again, are we, Scooter?" he whined. He glared at the vulnerable humanoid, smirking maliciously, licking his reptilian lips (if they had them at all). "We … can _wait_."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

(Spring, 2011AD)

Despite everything that had happened, the Fraggles in Outer Space had enjoyed themselves. They had danced, sung, and made merry until their feet were sore. Jenny and Kermit had forbidden the Fraggles from feeling that they have to repay them … but the Fraggles insisted on helping with the operations of both theaters, especially after Jenny's stagehand had to retire unceremoniously. They had found him bruised and groaning in the basement, which was littered with broken set pieces and props. Besides that, the crown was gone … though Red and Sarah had explained to Jenny what had happened.

Over at the Muppet Theater, Kermit was backstage, as usual, overseeing set designs. Wembley Fraggle walked up to Kermit, who was busy reading from some notes. "Uh, Mr. Frog?" he asked hesitantly.

Kermit smirked, not taking his eyes off the page. "Wembley … I told you you can call me Kermit."

Wembley nodded. "Mr. Kermit, sir? Is there anything else we can do for you?" His voice was filled with hopeful exuberance.

Kermit glanced at the young green-yellow Fraggle with the banana-tree shirt. "You don't have to do anything, Wembley," he replied. "Look, we appreciate the help, but don't feel like you're obligated to help us out." Kermit tried not to sound as curt as he did when Jenny had offered the same help years ago. After all, Kermit realized that, much like his neighbors on Sesame Street, Fraggles were very innocent and naïve.

Wembley grunted and nodded emphatically. "Yeah, yeah … but you know … '_when it feels real good, like a feeling should, then it's understood, you gotta (grunts twice) pass it on'_!"

Suddenly, various Fraggles and Muppets started singing impromptu:

_Pass it on (pass it on),_

_Pass it on (pass it on),_

_Wish upon (wish upon),_

_All the good things that you do._

_Pass it on (pass it on),_

_Pass it on (pass it on),_

_When it's gone (when it's gone),_

_It will bring good luck to you_!

"I get it! I get it!" Kermit exclaimed, stopping their song, though the others laughed as they continued with their work. Kermit sighed.

Wembley chuckled. "Well, it's just that," his head swayed back and forth with each phrase, "I've been thinking … and I know a way you could get more involvement with your theater!" He dramatically spread his arms, facing the dressing rooms on the back wall of the second story floor. "Picture it … young Silly Creatures … bored stiff from doing Silly Creature things … your theater … filled with all kinds of creatures and monsters … it's the perfect opportunity … you could help the young Silly Creatures learn about making plays!" He glances back at Kermit, whose mouth was slightly agape as the Fraggle continued his pitch. "You could help young Silly Creatures learn about how to interact with all kinds of different beings … and they can learn how to make stuff and use their imagination and sing songs and _everything_! What do you think?"

Kermit paused before speaking. "Uh, well, that's something we could look into, I guess…."

"It's a _great_ idea!" shouted Scooter, an orange gopher (or go-fer) with short red hair and large glasses and a lime-green Muppet Show jacket, as he zoomed in on the conversation.

A crustacean half the size of Kermit, Wembley, and Scooter with a tassle of unkempt red hair and four arms, appeared from behind Scooter. "And we could be making very much more monies, okay?" Pepe, the King Prawn, walked up to Kermit and playfully punched him on the shoulder, his voice lowered in all seriousness. "There is a Lamborghini with my name on it, okay?" He pointed at Wembley. "You should really agree with this guy, Kerr-mit."

Scooter gave a thumbs-up. "I'll go run the numbers…."

"But," Kermit interjected.

"And I will be getting ze permits, okay," Pepe offered, running off.

"But," Kermit repeated.

"Don't worry, Boss," Scooter replied, placing his hand gently on Kermit's shoulder. "We'll take care of everything." He jogged towards the exit.

"But," Kermit said again. He sighed, shaking his head. "This could be a liability insurance _nightmare_."

"Is that bad?" Wembley asked, nervous that maybe he caused his host some trouble, putting one hand up to his quivering lower lip.

Kermit shrugged. "It'll be fine until a monster eats a kid or Crazy Harry blows them up." He patted Wembley on the shoulder to reassure him, smiling. "Other than that, it may just work!"

* * *

In the ornate throne room of the castle of Moraine, with fountains everywhere spewing all kinds of liquids and robots hanging up against the walls, a hundred or so exquisitely dressed guests stared at the throne, where Esker placed a small crystal tiara on the head of a thin young woman with long black pigtails and a scar running through her left eye. A cloud with a face on it hovered proudly above her.

"Princess Moulin," Esker bellowed, quieting the crowds, "we entreat you to rule the Land of Cups with devotion and wisdom." He bowed low, followed by the attending gathering.

The new Queen of Moraine smiled and threw up her arms, causing the fountains to erupt into a dazzling and sparkling display of acrobatic trajectories. The crowd cheered wildly.

* * *

On the far edge of the Gorg Kingdom, behind the great Gorg well, a rousing tune sprang up as the scent of compost once again filled the air. The Trash Heap sang in her scratchy voice, assisted by Philo and Gunge, who jumped up and down wildly in celebration:

_I've been up and I've been down._

_I've been dragged all over town,_

_Trying to find a place to lay my head._

_After all the pain and woe,_

_Here's the only thing I know,_

_Couldn't last a day without my friends._

Philo and Gunge took up a line:

_Trash is back, trash is back in town!_

Marjory exclaimed,

_Oh and I'm home for good!_

Philo and Gunge sang the only line they sang for this song:

_Trash is back, trash is back in town!_

Marjory continued to shout exuberantly, her large body wiggling with every movement:

_Oh yeah, let me tell ya about it!_

_Through the nights and through the days._

_I had wandered in a haze._

_Now I know my family loves me true._

_Friends and Mother both are near,_

_Lonely's not a word I fear,_

_Cause now I know you __**all**__ will pull me through!_

_(Trash is back, trash is back in town.)_

_Oh and I'm here to stay._

_(Trash is back, trash is back in town!)_

* * *

Cantus, Convincing John, and Mokey all sat down, leaning against a ridge next to the Fraggle Pond, staring at the high ceiling of the Great Hall. As exhausted as they were, they couldn't help but smile. They all could sense the rest of the Light returning to the Rock. They began to hear a familiar carol waft down the tunnels towards them, sung by what sounded like every Fraggle who lived in the Rock:

_There's a rhythm._

_There's a rising._

_There's a dream of green that needs to wake,_

_A password,_

_And a promise,_

_That the earth will never ever break._

_It's coming,_

_Feel it humming,_

_In the hearts we share with rock and sky so raise … your … voices… __**high**__ …_

The song repeated for a few verses before soon the whole Great Hall was teeming with life again as Fraggles, Doozers, and other creatures, even Skenfrith, joined in the song.

Mokey felt someone staring at her. She turned to her head to her right and saw Red bounding towards her, arms waving madly. Mokey's eyes widened, her jaw dropping. "Red! Stop! Wait!" But it was too late, Red practically tackled her, squeezing her friend as hard as she could.

"Oh, Mokey!" she exclaimed. "You're alright!" Red sniffed back some tears. "I just _knew_ you would be!"

The inhabitants of the Rock cheered, hugging and congratulating each other. Mokey saw Boober hang back in the crowd. She managed to squeeze past about twenty Fraggles and Doozers. Upon reaching him, she kissed him on the cheek.

Boober jerked back in shock. "Why … why did you do _that_?" he asked, rubbing his cheek.

Mokey smiled. In her natural voice, filled with a dream-like quality, she replied, "I heard you, Boober. Just remember," she said, starting to sing an upbeat song quietly to garner as much privacy as one could have among a throng of Fraggles,

_Boober, my friend,_

_Is on his way,_

_We can have a super holiday._

_Stay a little longer with your friends._

_Play a little longer with your friends._

Boober gawked at her. "M … Mokey," he stuttered, "does … does this mean that you're back to normal?"

Mokey patted him on the shoulder with one hand as she tapped his hat with the other. "You know how your alter-ego Sidebottom is a part of you?" He nodded. Mokey smiled warmly. "I now have another part of _me_." She paused, slightly pouting. "Does that bother you, Boober?"

Boober stared at the ground floor for a few moments and then shrugged. His face lit up and he laughed. He grabbed both her hands in his. "Mokey," he proclaimed cheerfully, "now we can go on double dates and not have to invite anyone else!" He laughed again.

Mokey grinned, though she was a little taken aback by his response. "That sounds … like … _fun_!" She joined him in laughing at their strange situation.

* * *

Sarah had finally finished cleaning up the stage in preparation for the night's show. Toby had congratulated her on taking charge of her situation, helping to save countless creatures from destruction … and on finally letting magic within her heart. She wiped her forehead, absent-mindedly tying up her hair. She picked up the broom from the stage floor and turned, bumping accidentally into someone's chest. Before she looked up, she saw a golden pendant shaped vaguely like a straight-on image of a flying bird. She looked up and gasped. A blond-haired man with chiseled features, thin sunglasses, and slicked back hair tied into a ponytail grinned at her. He took her by the shoulders and repositioned her so she would see an amazingly ornate crown, fashioned from gold and silver and rare jewels, roughly the size of the one returned to Junior.

"It's a present," he noted dryly.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she embraced the King who stood before her, fearful that he would just be a figment of her imagination.

Alone on the stage, they shared a long and well-deserved kiss.

**Author's Note: End of Act 1**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Act 2: Comin' Back**_

Chapter 13

(Early Summer, 2011AD)

Ma Gorg, her ample blonde hair pulled up into a bun, patted her husband's furry gray-blue hand as he lay in bed. He had kept his squinty eyes closed for the better of the morning. Her pale lavender face with the upturned nose was slack. She had been at his bedside all night long and she was near exhaustion. She struggled to keep her eyes open.

Pa groaned. He clutched at his right leg. His voice was gravelly with age. "Oh, this ol' war wound…."

Ma sighed. Her voice, though weary, was melodious. "Oh, Husband and Retired Caretaker of the Universe," she cooed, "surely it cannot be all _that_ unpleasant?" She continued with a much sharper tone. "Besides, yesterday it was your _left_ leg."

Pa opened his eyes and glared at her. He had not trimmed his long sideburns or the long shaggy hair on the back of his fuzzy head for days. "Don't tell _me_ where I hurt, woman!" he protested. "I'm one-thousand and ten years old! I think I know where I hurt!"

She patted him on his arm patronizingly. "Of _course_ you do, dear." She put both hands on her hips as she sat on a small wooden stool from the living room. "Honestly, you act like you're about to keel over."

Pa whined. "But, _Ma_ – you know as well as I do I haven't been feeling the burning wildfires of youth lately! Cut me some slack, will you, my dear?" He tried to sit up, but fell back down on his pillow. "Where's Junior? I … I want to talk to him! I've still got advice to give!"

Ma shook her head and rose from her seat, standing almost twenty feet tall. "I am _not_ sending for our Loving Son and King of the Universe, Pa," she replied. "He's heading to a meeting with the Royal Court of All That Is. I am _not_ bringing him home just so you can worry him with all your depressing whimpering."

Pa screamed as he sat up despite his pain. "Drat and Deuteronomy, Mother!" He paused to massage his leg. "I am _not_ whimpering! I may not be the oldest Gorg in existence … but I _am_ leaving this world soon!"

"You've said that for half a century!" Ma shot back, though her voice began to waiver. He had started bewailing his fate when the first leaves of the Nirvana tree started to fall. The Nirvana tree was a sacred tree planted at the coronation of each Gorg king. When the last golden leaf fell, it would be time to crown someone else.

Pa had not taken that very well. Now, every little ache and sneeze portended some dreadful catastrophe.

"It's _true_, Mother!"

Ma stared at her husband. They had been married for 537 years, and all this time he had tried to get out of doing many of the things a Gorg King should do. Sure, he had been a loving husband and a devoted father … but he couldn't fool her. He was a coward. And yet, deep in her heart, she felt some anxiety. Despite all his frustrating faults … she wanted to spend all of eternity with him. Being away from him was far too painful.

Still, he usually whined like this to get out of work, which he usually turned over to his ever-eager son.

But, Junior wasn't here.

Ma sighed again. "Fine. Let's assume for the sake of argument that you really are unwell. I have given you every remedy noted in the Book of Gorgs. _Something_ should have worked by now."

Pa whimpered, lying back down, unable to sit for more than a few minutes. His tone was that of resignation. "Remedies only work if you can get better at all, Mother," he noted sadly. "I can't get my legs to stop hurting. It's starting to creep up my back, too."

* * *

"Okay, wait a minute!" Wembley screeched in the Storyteller's ear (well, Fraggles didn't have visible ears, but, whatever). He wore a loose white button-down shirt with banana tree with sunset patterns on it. He had light green skin and blond hair, a long nose, and a blond belubeous (the puffy tuft of hair at the end of their tail). Fraggles were, in general, two-feet tall.

"What's the problem?" the Storyteller replied. She had long graying pink hair, golden skin, round purple glasses, and she wore a long red robe.

Wembley huffed and puffed. "Well … well … what _is_ it with you? You're going to kill off Pa Gorg?" He screamed, running around in circles, jumping up and down in a huff.

The Storyteller waited until Wembley stopped. Her face was skeptical, her eyelids half closed. "Are you quite finished, yet?" He waited a few moments, bobbed his head from side to side as he tried to decide how to answer, and then he affirmed he was finished. She nodded. "Good. What have I been telling you about storytelling?"

Wembley grunted and shrugged. "Well, it … it _isn't_ real … is it?" he asked timidly.

She sighed. "You gotta keep the audience going. You can't be afraid to change the tone if the situation calls for it."

"But," he groaned, "I don't understand! Why do you always have to have characters face danger and destruction?"

The Storyteller sighed and shook her head. "_Because_, Wembley … that's where the drama is. Besides, if you have some twists in there, then the initial pain will pay off. It's basic storytelling. If you want to learn the tricks of the trade, you just gotta go with it."

Wembley groaned. He noticed a cushion in her cave that looked recently sat on. "Uh, who else has been here?"

The Storyteller's head lowered and she shuffled her feet. Her tail drooped. "I don't want to talk about it," she said finally. She shrugged. "Let's change the subject, shall we? Let's see, where was I…?"

_

* * *

Pa Gorg, back in the days when he had just become King of the Universe, sometime in the thirteenth century of what humans called (at the time) Anno Domini (which Pa assumed meant "To dominate a 'no'"), stared through the small window of his hiding place, which consisted of some ancient human stone ruins. He had been asked by various human kings to help out with a great battle. As King of the Universe, it had been his royal duty to commit himself to helping out other kings._

_Many Gorgs had been run off by these awful creatures. Some had supposedly fled to the northernmost regions of several continents. However, without a steady supply of radishes, they would certainly disappear … literally. Pa hailed from what the humans called "Europe", but with every passing human generation, he felt more and more uncomfortable. They could easily be destroyed if in small groups, since an individual of the species was rarely taller than his knees. However, there were just so many of them now. He had heard of a few Gorgs being tied down and thumped in their sleep by whole armies of the pests._

_Pa could hear the roaring battle cry as the fight began. Spears, arrows, horses, swords … the sounds of heavy footsteps and clanging metal made him shudder. There were probably millions of the tiny creatures. The stench of war flooded the entire area. Pa glanced at a parchment he had been given by those who wanted him to be on their side in battle. He shrugged. Something about a "den" – he couldn't read the sloppy handwriting very well, and some of those human languages were torturous to learn. At least there was a garden there, he mused to himself. Lots of trees, fertile soil, plenty of water from several rivers … in short, it was paradise. According to the legend, no one else lived there anymore. That was fine with him. He'd leave these creatures to their own problems, get a wife, have some heirs to the throne, and call it a day._

_And the best part was that it should only be a few weeks' walk from where he was now._

* * *

"Argh!" Travelling Matt screamed as he fled the large black and brown "dog", which had a very powerful narrow jaw that he was definitely not interested in testing for strength. Matt liked to wear a khaki uniform, a pith helmet, and a thin white scarf around his neck. He was the most famous explorer of Fraggle Rock. He was famous mostly for his uncanny ability to find things even when he's not looking for them. Whereas many saw it as dumb luck, Matt considered it proof of his natural talent and instinct.

He began to wonder just how long this creature could run. He had been chased throughout "Central Park" for nearly an hour now, and he was beginning to feel that burning in his legs that signaled a need to quit running.

But that creature was still _very_ angry….

He felt the creature tackle him to the ground, snarling and growling. The hard path made of some strange type of Silly Creature pour-able rock scraped his beige skin.

He was getting too old for this. Back in his prime, he could outrun any creature, even Gorgs. He was known for his athletic prowess all his life.

And if he didn't get away now … it might just be his very last expedition.

"Hey! Back off! Woof woof!" bellowed a gruff male voice.

"Go on, shoo!" yelled a much younger and naïve male voice.

Matt could hear the creature who threatened to thump him yip as it was suddenly taken off Matt's back. He felt two small hands grab him by the arms. He moaned as he was stood up. He glanced around, not focusing on anything in particular. An orange head with red hair and bold black round glasses filled his vision completely.

"Are you okay, sir?" asked the orange head, the owner of the young male voice.

"I said _sit_!" ordered the gruff voice from further away, which grunted as the cruel barking monster continued to struggle.

Matt tried to focus, but his heart was running away with him. "Gobo?"

The out-of-focus orange head shook. "No…."

"Morris?"

"Uh, the cat, the dance, the game, or the town?"

"The Fraggle," Matt noted wearily, finally feeling as though he could catch his breath.

The other Fraggle-like being shrugged. As Matt focused on him, he could see that this being had external ears and no tail. Obviously he wasn't a Fraggle. The creature was about Matt's height, and wore a lime green jacket over a black shirt and blue pants, the kind Silly Creatures called "jeans". "Sorry, never heard of him," the being said casually. His face continued to show intense concern. "Did that Doberman bite you?"

"No, but maybe he was pinched!" shouted the gruff voice dryly.

The orange creature nodded toward Matt's left, ignoring his friend's bad pun. "We can get you to a hospital if you need patching up."

Matt turned and saw a large rotund brown shaggy dog with long droopy ears, an oval black nose and a broad black-lipped mouth. He stood on his hind legs, unlike the dog being held forcefully by the collar. The upright dog shook his head and grunted with each attempt by the angry creature to escape. "Hey, Scooter … why don't you take him out of here?" strained the upright dog, though he was nearly slanted back forty-five degrees from the effort to keep the furious dog at bay. "I don't think I can hold him much longer."

"Sure, Rowlf," the orange creature replied, grabbing Matt by the arm and pulling him away briskly.

About a half-hour later, Scooter helped Travelling Matt to a bench. Matt put his elbows on his knees, letting his arms sway next to his legs, which were still aching something terrible. Scooter bit his lower lip and adjusted Matt's clothes, looking for rips. Scooter stepped back. "Well, it doesn't look like that Doberman got you," he noted satisfactorily. "How do you feel?"

Matt panted, his tongue hanging out. "I … I feel … as fragile as … a Doozer stick." He dramatically flung himself back against the back of the bench. His white sideburns and mustache were dripping wet from sweat.

"A Doozer stick?" Scooter asked curiously.

Matt stopped panting and stared at him in shock. "How can a Fraggle not know what a Doozer stick is?"

Scooter chuckled and snapped his fingers. "Oh! I'm not a Fraggle. I remember now … a couple months ago you guys hung out in the Muppet Theater."

Matt twitched his nose. "Well, I stayed with the young Master Toby … but, yes, there were some Fraggles in that theater."

Scooter nodded for Matt to continue. "So … is Fraggle Rock okay now?"

Matt smiled. "Yes, everyone is quite happy with the way things turned out … uh …."

"Scooter."

"Yes, Scooter, that's it." Matt sighed. "I want to thank you and that upright dog creature for saving my life. That first dog creature was going to eat me!"

"Sorry I'm late!" huffed the aforementioned bipedal brown dog as he finally ran up to them. He put his hands on his knees and panted. After a few moments, he managed to catch his breath. He extended one hand. "Hey, there! Rowlf the Dog. You okay?" Matt nodded. Rowlf nodded too, putting his hand back and shrugging. "I don't mean to blame the victim … but you really made that dog mad back there. He said you were trying to attack his owner."

"What!" Matt screamed incredulously. "How _dare_ that snarling beast accuse me of something so … so … _unFragglish_!" He scoffed. "The _nerve_!"

Rowlf nodded with exaggerated movements. "Oh, you're a _Fraggle_, huh?" He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "No wonder." He perked up and patted Matt on the knee. "Look, I know you folks don't know a lot about how this place works, but dogs don't like it when you hop on their owner's shoulders and start beatin' on 'em."

"But, but there was a worm creature snaking its way from the dog's neck to the Silly Creature's ears!"

Rowlf and Scooter stared at the elderly Fraggle with their mouths open. They couldn't believe their ears.

"I was only trying to free them both from such a horrible monster!" Matt continued to protest.

Rowlf stroked his chin. "Hm, that Doberman _did_ have a snapped leash, alright. And just about every human has an iPod while they're joggin'."

Scooter scooted over to Rowlf and whispered into his ear, "How can anyone confuse a leash and some earphones with a worm?"

Rowlf glanced over at his friend and shrugged. He glanced back at Matt. "Don't worry about it. It was just some misunderstanding. Why don't you go with Scooter. I'll go talk to that Doberman and explain what happened."

* * *

Ma slapped Pa, making him wince. He rubbed his cheek. "What in blue blazes did you do _that_ for?" he yelled.

Ma pulled back the covers. Tiny dots were swarming all over the fur on his legs, and a long trail of them led to end of the bed, down the leg, and across the bedroom floor.

Ma put her hands on her hips. "_You've_ been eating snacks in bed again, oh Perceptive and Intuitive Husband of Mine," she growled, shaking her head. She stomped off toward the door. "I can't _believe_ you made me keep watch over you just because you can't resist chips in bed. If you ate in the kitchen like you should --."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

(Early Summer, 2011AD)

Toby, a young Caucasian man in his twenties wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans, sat at his computer desk, staring at his monitor. He moved the mouse every so often, rotating a virtual three-dimensional image of a solar array that would help convert solar energy into electricity. Toby had once been kidnapped in his infancy by a magical being called the Goblin King. In his teenage years, he had ended up heir to the Goblin Kingdom. Now that he was back in the "normal" world, he paid the bills by creating software. His sister (well, half-sister), Sarah, was a top Broadway writer. Her latest hit, "_The Comeback of Sir Hubris_", was breaking all the attendance records.

On the other hand, he wondered if her success had anything to do with her wish to do so. The Goblin King enjoyed giving her her every heart's desire. However, both the Goblin King and Sarah would act severely insulted if he insinuated such a thing.

"Meep meep, meep meep meep," came a high-pitched voice from behind. The tone was one of resigned confirmation.

Toby turned toward the source, a four-foot-tall lanky male in a white lab uniform with pale skin, a tubular head, large white googly eyes, and a large tuft of bright red hair. "Well," Toby offered, "do we even _need_ the inverter, Beaker? I mean, I don't think they're on any kind of grid at all – at least, Sarah didn't think so." He pointed at the monitor. "I think DC'll work just fine."

"Meep, meep meep meep meep, meep meep meep, meep meep," Beaker replied, shrugging. "Meep meep, meep meep meep?"

Toby nodded. "Yeah, we can put a battery on it. Do you think we'll run out of supplies? I mean, this is a pretty big array we'll have to build. What did Dr. Honeydew say? Did he want to add anything?"

Beaker went off on a long tirade, his tone of voice suggesting boredom regarding Dr. Honeydew's opinions. He shook his head, continuing his rant with increasing frustration and anger, his finger jabbing forcefully in the air.

Toby's brows rose, his hands out in a placating pose. "Hey, calm down, dude," Toby interrupted in a bemused voice. "I wasn't implying you didn't have good solutions." He winked. "I know who the _real_ talent is, okay? Why do you think _you're_ here?"

Beaker's narrow mouth went slack. He shrugged. "Meep meep, meep."

Toby smiled. "Exactly. Don't get so defensive, Beaker. If this project works out, it will be an amazing accomplishment. We'll have something to be truly proud of."

* * *

Red Fraggle frowned, her knuckles aching. She was trying to climb up the Great Hall again, for about the twentieth time this year. She had managed to climb up about thirty feet up the craggly rock walls of the large cave. All anyone could see below her was an orange-yellow dot with a red long-sleeved turtleneck sweater and two fiery red-orange pom-pom-like pigtails, with her tail swaying beneath her. They couldn't make out her facial expressions (luckily for her). She looked up again: in about ten feet, she'd hit the large stone bricks that marked the beginning of the interior to the Gorg's well. It would be about another six or seven feet to reach the lip of the well. She would go down in Fraggle history as the only Fraggle to get all the way up to the very top. However, at about the height she was at right now, the cave walls arched into a vaulted ceiling, making it nearly impossible to hang on.

She groaned to herself. If she couldn't get to the top, she'd at least try to beat her personal best, which was about two feet away. She felt her fingers and toes begin to slip on the beginnings of the dome-like ceiling. She dared not look down: she would be extremely lucky to hit the Fraggle Pond below, but it was only so deep, and she wasn't sure she would survive the adventure unscathed if she fell.

Far below, a large crowd of Fraggles craned their necks, trying to see if the Fraggle Rock Swimming Instructor would actually pull it off this time. Most of them cheered her on, but a couple here and there started to mutter how messy it would be if she splattered all over the Great Hall floor.

One Fraggle, rather overweight with multiple chins, munched on a clear-white Doozer stick, which was cast from pulverized radishes and flavored with an assortment of different spices and vegetables, depending on the season and the location of the nearest Doozer mill. He had a tangle of brown hair, pink skin, and puffy eyelids. He wore a robe that looked as though it were made of burlap.

As Red continued her climb, the Fraggles began to sing:

_Red can climb the highest mountain,_

_Red can burn those calories,_

_Red can best the other Fraggles even now!_

_Red can never worry 'bout it,_

_Red can never, ever freeze,_

_But Red, just think, you might even go ka-pow!_

_For you might never, ever, ever,_

_You might never, never, never,_

_Reach the top,_

_Of the Gorg well!_

"Yes I _can_!" screeched Red from her perch high above the Great Hall, making everyone laugh.

The overweight Fraggle felt someone tap him on his shoulder. He turned, half-interested, to see a strange "Fraggle" with dark orange skin, glittery eyelids with long black lashes on small googly eyes, bright red braided hair pulled up into a ponytail with a few strands dangling along each side of her face, tiny rounded diamond-pierced external ears, strange red and blue clothes like Silly Creatures wore … and no tail. His eyes widened (as much as they could), his voice surprisingly high-pitched and scratchy, "Who … who are _you_?"

The strange creature smiled and took out a piece of paper from her pocket. She read from it, her voice a little deeper than Red's, "Uh, let me get to the point of this letter, here: 'The Fraggles are invited to an event in Central Park, to test their athletic skills against all types of creatures, including human children. It will be a multi-cultural extravaganza designed to teach each other about different types of athletic events from all around the world. We would be pleased to have representatives of Fraggle Rock join us for this momentous occasion. Signed, Kermit the Frog and Gonzo the Great.'" She looked up, batting her eyelids as small pebbles began to rain down on them. "So, anyone can come, but the letter is addressed to Red and Gobo Fraggle. You know where I might find them?"

The heavy-set Fraggle turned and pointed to the ceiling above them as the Great Hall resonated with the wail of Red as she fell from her perch finally. "Red'll be here any second," he told her casually. He glanced over … at nothing but cave wall. He searched for the strange creature, finding her leaping up to a thick vine, lunging off a small cliff, hurling through the air on the vine, weaving one leg around the vine for stability, grabbing at Red with one arm, nearly being pulled off the vine at the weight of the falling Fraggle, and landing with a "Ta-da!" on the large rocky arch on one side of the Pond, Red Fraggle leaning back and forth before fainting and falling to the ground with a "thud". The obese Fraggle waddled over to the arch and looked up … as everyone else was also staring at the strange new arrival. "That was _inspiring_! My name is Large Marvin! What's yours?" A chorus of "Yeah, what is it?" echoed throughout the Great Hall.

Suddenly the female creature shook slightly, her voice quivering with unease. "Uh, the name's …."

"Hey, look! A letter!" shouted Red, who had stood up at last, rubbing her head and clutching at the piece of paper. She read it aloud voraciously and gasped with delight. She stared up at the arrival. "This is a _great_ idea! Of _course_ I'll come! This 'Central Park' place is in Outer Space, right? That's where that frog guy lives." She started to re-read the letter to herself over and over again.

"Hey, uh, don't worry 'bout Red, eh?" said a male Fraggle with an eager voice. He had orange skin and red-purple hair and wore a yellow long-sleeve shirt with red stripes and a brown vest. "She tends to get excited about things like contests and stuff. Are you from around here?" He stared at her when she seemed too intimidated to respond. He chuckled, smiling warmly. "My name's Gobo. You can come down, you know. We don't bite."

The new arrival jumped down with a grunt, dusted off her pants, and grabbed the orange male Fraggle by the hand and shook it, smiling. "Well, I'm not a Fraggle, but my parents lived in caves like this. When they died my brother and I were adopted by a man named J.P." She lowered her head in embarrassment, her cheeks turning slightly red, which brought out the color of her hair. "Sorry, I keep meaning to introduce myself. My name's Skeeter. I'm a personal trainer and Olympic hopeful."

Her response was met with a lot of "oh's" and "ah's."

Gobo stared at her blankly. "What's an 'Olympic'?"

Skeeter sighed and reared her head back in thought, as though the answer were written on the ceiling. "Well, the Olympics are a series of major sports tournaments held every four years by humans. They keep telling me I'm too short … but I'm determined to prove I can outperform them all."

Red frowned. "They're not letting you compete because you're shorter than a Silly Creature?" she exclaimed with indignation, her hands on her hips. "What kind of pathetic reason is that?"

Gobo patted Red on the shoulder. "Now, Red, it's a Silly Creature's contest – they get to make up the rules."

Red shoved his hand away. "Well … it's not fair! Most of those Silly Creatures are lucky to be able to lift themselves out of bed in the morning! I can lift more with my tail than most of them can lift with both their arms!"

Gobo clamped her mouth shut before she could get any more riled up. "Don't turn this into a fight, Red." He kept his hand on her mouth while he glanced at Skeeter appreciatively. "We welcome the invitation and consider it an honor to go. Can we bring anyone else or is it just us?"

Skeeter blushed, embarrassed at the problem she created (though her heart picked up a few beats at the thought of finally meeting someone who agreed that she was a victim of discrimination). "Oh, anyone who wants to come can come," she replied, trying to sound casual and cheerful. "Kermit just knew the names of a few of you, that's all." She smiled at Red, who by now had pulled away from Gobo. "You know, Red, if you used a safety harness, you wouldn't plummet to your doom like that. I could get you some. I keep a bunch at my house."

Red groaned timidly. "What's the fun in that?" she asked, her voice barely betraying her own embarrassment and disappointment. What was worse was that this Skeeter creature had rescued her with such style and panache that it seemed to completely overshadow her own accomplishments.

Skeeter raised an eyelid. "What's the fun in breaking every bone in your body?" Skeeter shook her head and shrugged. "Well, anyway, I gotta get goin'. See ya around, Fraggles!" she announced, heading back towards the tunnel from which she came, to the cheers of the Fraggle horde behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

(Early summer, 2011AD)

Far from the Great Hall, far from most Fraggles, two female Fraggles skipped along a remote tunnel, humming a cheerful melody. Eventually, the slightly bigger one, a female Fraggle with lavender skin, deep maroon lashes, and pink long hair with purple strands here and there, stopped. Her voice suggested permanent wonder of all around her. "You know, Tosh, I wonder if Wembley will go to Outer Space. I hope he doesn't get hurt out there."

Tosh, a smaller pink female Fraggle with pale algae-tinged hair, sighed as she tugged on the red leash holding a large lion-like creature with a golden mane. "I'm sure Wembley will be fine, Lou. Rock forbid any of those Fraggle Five _not_ go for fame and glory."

Lou gasped. "Tosh … where did _that_ come from? We were _all_ invited to that Silly Creature contest. You sound … almost … bitter."

The lion-like creature sauntered up to its owner and licked it tenderly, trying to comfort her. Tosh groaned, her voice getting louder and louder. "Boober acted like he wanted a safe, normal life. I knew he had a crush on … on … _that_ Fraggle, but I offered a kind of calm anonymity I thought he'd enjoy! _That_ Fraggle has completely lost her gourd!"

"You're _jealous_!" Lou exclaimed in shock.

Tosh snorted. "I am _not_!"

Lou smiled teasingly. "You are! You are you are you are," she chanted melodiously.

Tosh shook her head. "I'm _not_ jealous – I'm _hurt_, Lou!" she retorted, frowning. "I thought it _meant_ something when Boober hung out with me. All Boober ever said he wanted was to do his laundry and keep out of trouble. That kind of thing is impossible hanging out with Gobo and his friends! I feel like he promised me a reward for running an errand for him … only to discover he already had the thing he sent me to find!"

Lou hung her head. "You feel betrayed?" she asked quietly.

Tosh nodded, her tail drooping. "Yeah," she replied solemnly. "He gave me the cold shoulder."

Lou frowned and shuddered. "Your shoulder's not the only one that's cold."

They headed down the tunnel and came across a hole filled with ice. They looked at each other. Tosh's lion-like creature took one paw and broke the ice, shattering it. A stiff icy breeze nearly numbed their noses.

"M-maybe we s-should have p-packed mittens," Lou chattered helpfully.

* * *

The Storyteller sighed, dusting the furniture in her cave. She was one of the few Fraggles to have an actual door, so she could concentrate on creating her tales in solitude. The older a Fraggle got, the further from the Great Hall they tended to live. Oh, near-constant singing and dancing was fun and all, but as they got older, they realized there could be a great deal of fun in "retirement" as well. She had her long graying pink hair tied up so she could clean without having to blow strands of hair from her face every so often. She stopped momentarily to wipe the sweat from around her glasses.

A knock on the door startled her, making her chirp in fear. She opened it to find Cantus, who had orange-yellow skin, red tufts of hair on either side of his head, as well as a red goatee, which was starting to gray. He wore a simple purple robe, his twin flute tucked neatly into a long pocket. "Cantus!" the Storyteller exclaimed. "What … a _surprise_! I didn't hear you approach."

Cantus barely shook his head. "I didn't want the others to hear me come." He paused for a long time, though the Storyteller was used to that from him. "I want you to come with me."

Storyteller sighed and took his hand in both of hers. "Cantus," she told him frankly, "you know your sister would do absolutely anything for you … but you gotta stop all this 'come' and 'go' nonsense." She patted his hand. "If I wanted to just up and wander places … I would have gone with Matthew." She sighed and retreated back into her cave and plopped down on a small blue cushion. She waved for him to enter, her voice one of experience with his vagueness. "Come on … out with it, Cantus. What's the deal this time?"

Cantus slowly entered, leaning against the doorway. His voice stayed mellow, but the Storyteller could detect a faint hint of impatience growing. Strange, she thought, that that would happen so close to the beginning of the conversation. Usually it took him at least ten minutes to get frustrated. "I want you to see something."

Storyteller leaned forward, frowning. "Cantus, if you're taking me out on a camping trip to look at blooming cave lilies again…."

"The Rock is not just the Rock," Cantus replied (sort of). "The Rock is also the Cave. It is also a great many other places no one ever sees … not even Matt."

"Cantus, the story's dragging, dear," the Storyteller lectured. "Pick up the pace or your audience'll fall asleep." She leaned back. "We're not getting any younger."

Cantus frowned briefly. "Do you remember me telling you of young Gobo at the time of the Festival of the Bells many years ago?"

The Storyteller nodded. "Yeah, little guy wanted to prove the location of the Heart of the Rock. So what?" She wagged a finger at her sage brother. "You and I know where it is. What's the big deal?"

Cantus shook his head. "That was not the point…."

The Storyteller groaned, exasperated. "The point was you wanted him to listen to his heart. We all know that, Cantus. It's your main theme. You go on and on about it." She shrugged, wanting to change the subject. "Want some cider?"

"No, thank you," he replied absent-mindedly. He walked over to a large plaid cushion and sat down gingerly, exhaling with relief. He scratched his head. "I have found other Hearts in my travels, Sis," he continued wearily. "All are magic and all bring light." He stared at his younger sister. "I want two Fraggles to look for the strangest Heart of all."

Storyteller laughed, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Let me guess: uh, Mokey Fraggle, and, uh, let's see … uh, who else would be suckered … er … _inspired_ … to go along with one of your new missions?"

"Actually, I planned on sending Tosh and Lou from the Rock."

The Storyteller's eyelids opened more fully. "Tosh and Lou? Why them, of all Fraggles?"

Cantus smirked. "Because they need to have a verse."

"Here we go," Storyteller grumbled. "Tosh and Lou felt underappreciated and useless and third-tier. Helpful ol' Cantus will give them a sense of importance --."

"They already _have_ importance," Cantus interrupted curtly. "I only wish to help them see that for themselves."

* * *

"I'm with Beastie," Tosh said emphatically, watching her lion-like creature shiver and pull away from the hole leading to an icy tunnel. "I'm not going in there."

"But Cantus said we were looking for something," Lou replied in a whining tone. "I would say we found something, right?"

"Exactly … it's found," Tosh retorted. "Let's go back to the Rock." She saw Lou approach the hole, despite the cold. "Lou, it's not the time of year for the Rock to slow down and get covered in ice yet. What if we go in there and spread that cold to the whole Rock?"

Lou shot Tosh a harsh glance. "You'd rather Gobo or Boober get all the glory?"

Tosh sat down on her knees, her tail swaying back and forth. "What if there isn't any glory in there? What if it's blame?"

Lou stared at Tosh for several minutes, the only sound being the wailing of the icy breeze. "You know Tosh, I don't know why Boober and you didn't work out either," she said finally, inhaling deeply and plunging into the hole.

Tosh finally dragged Beastie with her through the hole, shivering, and coming out into a cave that seemed half as tall and wide as the Great Hall. All of the walls and the floor were covered in ice, and there were no plants at all. The first thing really strange Tosh noticed was a series of planks of wood sticking out of a wall to her right, about four feet or so off the ground, smothered in ice. Tosh finally noticed Beastie staring at something to her left. It was a gigantic stone pillar. Beastie pulled Tosh toward the other side of the pillar. There stood Lou, shivering, her head moving back and forth as if reading something. Tosh joined Lou and noticed a set of Fragglish inscriptions carved into the pillar. Beastie, meanwhile, was jerking its paws off the icy floor one at a time, trying not to freeze to the ground.

Lou pointed at a squiggly line just underneath a lantern made of copper or something. "That one says 'Rhythm'."

Tosh squinted. It was hard to make out some of the symbols for all the ice. She pointed at a small tree creature engraving. "That one is 'Rise', right?"

Lou nodded. "The little box with the line sticking out at the bottom is 'Dream' and … and … I can't seem to make out some of it because the frost is in the way," she noted curiously, with a tinge of frustration. She scanned the rest of the images as they went down the pillar. There were a couple of box pictographs, a large tree-creature, and a set of three vertical lines. "Hm," Lou continued, "it says, ' Password', 'Promise', 'something something'." Lou's eyelids widened as she grabbed Tosh in amazement. "Tosh, do you know what this _is_?"

Tosh nodded, jumping up and down, partly for her excitement and partly to encourage more circulation in her near-frozen tissues. "It's the Carol of the Festival of the Bells!" she screamed. As if it were going to burst out of them at any moment, they began to sing:

_There's a rhythm._

_There's a rising._

_There's a dream of green that needs to wake,_

_A password,_

_And a promise,_

_That the earth will never ever break._

_It's coming,_

_Feel it humming,_

_In the hearts we share with rock and sky so raise … your … voices… __**high**__. . ._

A tiny light inside the lantern started to flicker before disappearing. Tosh and Lou laughed and headed toward the hole. They gasped.

It wasn't there.

* * *

Cantus finished his cup of cider and handed it to his sister, who placed it neatly in a bin filled with all her other dirty dishes. He licked his lips. "You always did make the best cider."

Storyteller shrugged one shoulder. "It's a gift," she replied casually. She turned toward him, placing her hands on her hips. "Now, why do you want me to go with you to this 'new Heart' thing, huh, Cantus? I _tell_ stories … I don't go out trying to find them. I let them come to _me_."

Cantus motioned for her to come closer. When she did so, he whispered into her ear for a few moments. The Storyteller's tail drooped.

"I will be waiting at the Crystal Caverns tomorrow morning," Cantus said, standing and nodding as he left the Storyteller's cave.

The Storyteller had been standing outside her cave for several moments after Cantus left, when Wembley came bounding toward her. "Hey!" he screeched. "Miss Storyteller, uh, ma'am? I need your help with a story!" He was bouncing up and down in anticipation.

The Storyteller felt like she was in a haze that was sapping her energy. "Uh, okay … what story do you want to hear?"

Wembley shook his head. "No no … I'm _writing_ a story about our adventures in Outer Space!" he replied exuberantly. "I need some help, though." He put a finger on his lower lip as he began to think. "Now, do you know anything about magical water fairies?" He chuckled. "I want to bounce some ideas off of you about why that one magical water fairy was in the Rock…."

**Author's Note: I also don't own the trippy show LOST, and you don't really have to watch it, but it's more interesting if you do.**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

(Summer, 2011AD)

Ms. Bitterman, a caustic Caucasian lanky brunette businesswoman in a royal blue pantsuit, slammed the door to the gas-electric hybrid taxi. She didn't want the driver to have the satisfaction of having her hear his tirade against her abrasive personality. Besides, he really _was_ an idiot … driving her halfway across Manhattan when all she wanted was a simple meal. Delivery had become so expensive thanks to rising fuel prices that if she had been any other person, she'd be furious. Although she _was_ irritated that she was unduly inconvenienced, she couldn't help but smile at what the oil companies' philosophies did to everyone. She was always attracted to the power to make others' squirm and she was thankfully immune to any ill words hurled in her direction.

She had wanted nothing more than to see her father's pet project, the Muppet Theater, torn down years ago. However, that backstabbing little king prawn Peepee (or something along those lines) cheated her out of it. It wasn't about the money, though that's what she told them and her stockholders. The Theater had a consistent twenty-percent profit. That wasn't phenomenal, but they weren't scraping the bottom of the barrel, either. What she despised was Kermit's contentment. She couldn't let him know they were doing well. She enjoyed watching him and his other friends writhe in despair. However, with the help of their friends Sarah and Jenny, those two-bit (yet irritatingly successful) Broadway broads, they _weren't_ suffering. No matter what she did, she couldn't knock down Kermit even a peg.

Fate _hated_ her.

* * *

The palanquin moved at a fairly fast pace across the emerald countryside. A palanquin was an enchanted carriage with twelve small pawed legs from the front to the middle (though one pair was bound over the top of its 'head' with the reins) and two large pawed legs in the rear by a strong thick ten-foot-long stony-looking blunt tail, four eyes lined up in a row on each side of a thin upturned "nose", a set of curved steps on a creamy bone body leading up to a spiked back between which was a mother-of-pearl cab bordered with gold and fanciful jeweled swirling designs on the sides with a velvet red two-person couch with decorative golden horns on either top corner.

Inside the cab of the palanquin, two figures sat, trying to keep from touching the other. They had been riding for a week … _in the same vehicle_ … for the _whole_ trip. The male on the left, his feathery blond hair swaying in the breeze, his black riding coat rippling, and his right black boot swung out over the side of the carriage, stared intently at a small clear crystal orb in his gloved hands. The female on the right, her shiny black hair tied into two pigtails, her pale skin showing initial signs of sunburn despite the shade of the cab's roof, her reddened scar over her left eye toughening her otherwise dainty features, her gold-trimmed navy blue dress rippling in the wind, sighed as she stared at a small cloud racing at their side.

"If you love humans so much, why don't you get an mp3 player or something?" the woman grumbled bitterly, trying not to look at him. When he didn't respond, she whipped her head around, glaring. "How _dare_ you ignore me?" she snarled.

The man kept a blank facial expression. "You _did_ want me to treat you with the same respect as your mother, dear Moulin," he retorted quietly.

"Hmph," she snorted, crossing her arms and turning away. She hated it when she walked right into one of his cutting remarks.

He flashed a brief smirk. "Besides, it seems peculiar that one who hates humans so much would enter their world and pretend to be among the mortal commoners."

Moulin frowned. "At least _I_ do so to accomplish strategic goals," she replied. "_I_ don't go there just to woo mortal women, Jareth."

Jareth laughed heartily. He wiped away a couple of tears with a silk handkerchief. "No, that's only _one_ pleasure to be had, right, Moulin?"

_The small room was barely illuminated by a small forty-watt bulb in the center, dangling down from a thin wire to a steel conical lampshade. It was like an empty storage room. Well, actually, it was … since that was what Ms. Ardath had been using it for ever since Dr. Jerome Christian moved to Arizona to continue his archaeology work. It had been twenty-three years since "Doc" had moved, leaving the strangest thing in the bare room._

_Ms. Ardath checked her watch. The inspector was over an hour late and she had things to do at the Captain's Inn._

"_Mrs. Betty Ardath?" asked a young female voice from behind._

_Ms. Ardath turned, jumping nearly six inches. "Ms. Ardath … I didn't hear you come in," she gasped._

_The young woman, looking to be about twenty-five or so, wore her long black hair over her thin bespectacled face on the left side. Her dark red lips contrasted sharply with her pale skin. She smiled, adjusting her white blouse and black slacks. "I deeply apologize, ma'am," she said, bowing slightly. Ms. Ardath could see a pale scar running vertically across one eye. The woman stood straight again and smiled warmly. "I'm with the Water Department." She stepped closer and shook Ms. Ardath's hand. "I'm Miss Moraine. I understand there's some issues with the piping here?"_

_She nodded toward the hole. "Do you mind if I take a look at that? There's a long record of troubles with the piping around here." The young woman brought out a small PDA and pecked at it with a stylus. "Hm, let's see … weird noises on a daily basis … unexplained losses of water pressure … groundwater pollution …." She looked up, the smile leaving her face. "Am I missing anything?"_

_Ms. Ardath cleared her throat and evaded the woman's gaze. "Uh, no … I think that covers it."_

_Miss Moraine smiled and put her PDA away. "I'm sure I can take care of this. Give me a couple of hours and it'll be good as new."_

_Ms. Ardath cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. "I don't see any tools…."_

_The young woman laughed and pointed to the door. "I have some tools in my SUV. You can watch if you like, but wall-patching can be rather tedious."_

"_But you're just an inspector."_

_Miss Moraine shrugged. "Why be inefficient? I know what's wrong with that hole and I have the time to fix it." She smiled widely. "I promise I won't charge you for it."_

"How much farther is this Royal Convention of the Underground?" Moulin asked huffily, yawning exaggeratedly.

"Depends," Jareth replied casually, shrugging. He was pleased with the Kingdom of Moraine's choice of heir (not that they had much of a choice, since her sister had died awkwardly in the Gorg Kingdom). Moulin had _so_ many buttons to push….

Moulin could not reply for several minutes, her eyes widened. She felt as though the wind had been sucked out of her. She stared at Jareth, who kept watching his crystal. "What does _that_ mean?"

"We couldn't hold it within one of the castles since our most recent member can't fit inside," he replied in hushed tones. He frowned briefly. "Apparently we must go to the source of the problem. We have kept humans out of the Underground for centuries --."

"—with the odd exception here and there," Moulin retorted acrimoniously.

"However," Jareth continued, ignoring her tone, "over the last decade or so, one particular place keeps a whole band of humans teetering on the edge of the Underground. We must not let them destroy what we have tried to keep from them." He finally turned to his frowning companion. "Are you quite certain you closed off portals into the Rock from the human realm?"

_After Ms. Ardath stepped outside to return to the Inn, Miss Moraine walked over to the water heater which was still bolted to the wall about six feet from the floor. She was surprised at the small capacity of the device. She pulled a small test tube filled with water out of her pants pocket and pulled off a rubber stopper, letting the liquid flow down the pipe leading from the heater. It ran down toward the floor and entered the pipes going into the wall through small leaks in the joints. Almost immediately, she could hear changes if she closed her eyes. She heard the massive twisting of metal and stone as the pipes throughout the cavern behind the wall shifted. How was it even possible for this infrastructure to affect a region noted for its loose ties to space and time? She placed a hand on the water heater, feeling each individual drop as it flowed throughout the structure both known and unknown to the resident humans in this city. She could sense the water in the pipes leading to a very large reservoir somewhere relatively deep within. There seemed to be a lot of activity in this reservoir. Must be the little rodents, she thought to herself._

_She pulled her hand away with a start, her eyes widening in shock._

_She could feel traces of her mother's presence in the water._

_Moulin didn't expect that. She had always felt her mother's presence, of course, even when she traveled to distant lands. For some apparently foolish reason, though, she assumed that she would stop feeling it with her mother's death._

_She hurriedly patched up the wall and teleported back to her kingdom._

Moulin rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. "I can hold my own, Goblin King," she snapped back. "The only entries involve an enchanted cave with multiple portals that are _impossible_ to close and a hidden portal accessed only through special ritual." She shook her head. "No human is smart enough to gain access to them, even your 'family', Jareth."

Jareth scowled, turning his attention back to his crystal. "The ones I've been watching might be."

_

* * *

Charlie's_ was a restaurant in some hole-in-the-wall place deep in Manhattan. The outside was marked only with a small awning with the owner's logo printed on it. The neighborhood was a dump … from Ms. Bitterman's point of view, anyway. The taxi driver would pay for dumping her here. However, when she went inside, it was like watching the beast transform into the beauty. Dozens of small round tables covered in expensive linens dotted the dining area. Decorative golden sconces on the walls went well with the dark red leather kitchen doors in the back. The meals were served on fine china.

She was impressed, despite her mood.

After she had been seated, she noted that non-humans worked here as well. New York was filled with them, she mused to herself. She wasn't bigoted in any way; she enjoyed non-humans … they were so … so … easily manipulated, like puppets. She chuckled to herself. She looked at the clock above the kitchen door. After five more minutes without being waited on to take her order, she'd throw a tantrum. She noticed one waiter, a three-foot-tall blue furry creature with a round head and bright red lips, dashing back and forth, spending less than a minute at each table. He spoke with an exuberant, high-pitched gravelly voice. She also noted with a bemused expression that the customers were frowning and grumbling whenever he left their tables.

"Oh, no," whined a middle-aged voice behind her. She glanced in that direction as a rotund blue-faced small male humanoid with brown hair ringing around the back of his head. He wore a black pin-striped suit and sat down in his chair at the table to her left in a huff. He shook his head slowly. "I don't believe it," he continued. "I try coming at eleven, I try coming at two, I try coming only on the weekends … doesn't that guy ever have a day _off_?"

"Bad customer service?" Ms. Bitterman asked with a condescendingly sympathetic tone.

The male nodded. "Yeah, you could say that," he said. He glanced at her and gasped. "You're Ms. Bitterman, right? Owner of Bitterman Bank?" He held out his hand as she affirmed. "Johnson, F.B. Johnson. It's a pleasure to meet the owner of one of the better banks in Manhattan."

The woman smiled, shaking his hand briefly. She'd rub on some hand sanitizer later. No matter how genuine she tried to be, she could never hide a hint of irritation whenever someone talked to her. "It's always a pleasure to meet a satisfied customer."

Mr. Johnson grinned. "Yeah," he said, sighing, leaning his head back, "no matter what that waiter does to me today, at least I have someone pretty to sit next to."

"I bet you say that to all the women."

He smirked and hushed his voice. "Well, I said that once when I dined with my wife some time ago. She didn't appreciate it at all."

Ms. Bitterman twisted her face in confusion. "Your wife didn't like compliments?"

He nodded, chuckling. "Oh, she _loved_ compliments," he replied cheerfully, "but I wasn't talking to _her_ – _that_ was her problem!"

* * *

The palanquin ambled on in the bright sunlight. They had passed endless fields of sparkling flowers, a dark forest with sentient (but rude) apple trees, various farms and ranches, a canyon or two, and a lazy winding river that shimmered in the sun. Jareth had closed his eyes, while Moulin communicated with her second-in-command, Esker, through a puddle of water in her palm.

Suddenly, she jabbed Jareth with her elbow. "Awaken, King of the Labyrinth," she announced with a frown. "We will have company soon."

Jareth opened just one eye and glanced at her, shifting his weight. "Wake me if we're attacked," he replied, snorting and returning to his nap.

Moulin splashed water into his face, making him jump and hit his head on the ceiling of the cab. He glared at her, his lips curling. His eyes always seemed more sinister when he squinted thanks to that heavy mascara he used, which elongated his eyelids visually. She glowered as her cloud companion raced in circles around the palanquin in panic. "Your precious mountain of fur is approaching."

Jareth cocked an eyebrow. "The Yeti?" he asked, forgetting his temper momentarily.

Moulin jabbed a finger at him. "Not your silly Yetis," she replied. "The Great 'King of the Universe'," she continued in an exaggerated tone.

Jareth soon felt the bounding pulse coming up from the ground. He realized that Moulin, new Queen of Moraine, could sense the vibrations in the groundwater, and knew of the two-story-tall Gorg's approach. He ordered the palanquin to stop as they finally saw the brown shaggy king run up to them, panting. He wore a fraying purple robe and a golden cloth belt and carried a knapsack filled with unseen items.

"Hey! Wait up!" screamed the Gorg frantically. "I wanna go to da meeting!"

"Dunder-headed lummox," Jareth sniped under his breath, making Moulin smile for a moment.

When the Gorg finally caught up, he stopped, his boots sending clumps of grass on top of the two royal faes. After the Gorg caught his breath, he bent down and saluted. "Hiya," he noted in a cheerful voice. "I'm Junior Gorg. I got dis invitation here sayin' dat I got to go to some meetin' for all da kings and queens of da universe." He stood up straight, his face slackening in defeat. "Can you tell me how to get dere?"

* * *

The furry blue waiter dashed to Ms. Bitterman's table, spilling her soda all over the crisp white tablecloth. She glared at him. He hurriedly tried to soak it up with a towel he kept draped over one arm. "Oh, I am _so_ sorry!" he exclaimed. He plopped her steak dinner on the table with a rattling clunk. "Here ya go," he continued as if nothing had happened, with a tinge of impatience, "go ahead and chew on that while I get you a new drink." He dashed off, screaming at the chef behind the kitchen doors.

"I hope you don't have a short lunch break, Ms. Bitterman," whispered Mr. Johnson helpfully. "Grover would rather see the restaurant close for the day than see you get your meal on time."

Ms. Bitterman flashed a smirk instinctively. She poked at her lunch with her fork. "Meat's overdone and the potatoes are too soupy and the mixed vegetables look burnt," she commented with a bored expression.

Mr. Johnson shook his head. "It's not Charlie. It's that dad-blamed waiter of his," he continued, slightly louder. "He keeps giving Charlie the wrong orders. This place would be raking in millions if he'd just fire Grover!" He sighed, his voice tensing. "Everywhere I go, it's Grover, Grover, Grover. You can't escape him! He's like a bad rash that just won't go away, no matter how often you see the doctor! And what's worse, _he'll_ probably be the _doctor_!"

Grover reappeared just as Mr. Johnson finished up his latest rant. He carefully placed a full glass of soda on Ms. Bitterman's table, which was still stained and dripping. He patted her on the back hard. "There you go, ma'am," he announced with glee. "One glass full of soda for the nice executive. Leave the tip on the table!" he added before zooming off … still having never visited Mr. Johnson's table in the half-hour they had been there. Just as Mr. Johnson was about to stand up to leave, grumbling, Grover zipped to his table and cheerfully went through a minute-long song and dance about the special today.

"No!" Mr. Johnson bellowed, slapping his hand down hard on his table. "I've been waiting half an hour to get waited on! I'm leaving!"

"But _sir_," Grover shouted back, "you have not waited long at all! You _could_ have waited thirty whole minutes to place your order!"

Mr. Johnson's lip quivered, his whole body beginning to shake. "I _did_ wait 'thirty whole minutes', you moron!" he barked.

"Did you count them?" Grover asked with a slightly timid voice.

Mr. Johnson screamed in anguish, his blue face threatening to turn beet red. "Of _course_ I'm not going to count them! I don't have time for _that_!"

Grover sighed and rolled his head in a huge circle, his arms spread out dramatically. "Well, then, how do you _know_ you've waited thirty whole minutes?"

"You're hired!" Ms. Bitterman interjected forcefully.

"Beg your pardon?" Grover and Mr. Johnson gasped simultaneously, their jaws dropping.

Ms. Bitterman wiped her lips with a napkin. "I've seen all I need to see. Grover, you are the most sociopathic waiter I've ever had the pleasure to meet."

"What does 'so-,' uh, 'socio-,' what you just said … what does that mean?" Grover asked curiously.

Before Mr. Johnson could interrupt, Ms. Bitterman smiled her warmest fake smile she could muster. "It means you'll enjoy your job no matter what. You don't let anything bother you. I want you in my customer service division."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be joking," Mr. Johnson gasped. His blue face was turning almost white. "You'll condemn us to global economic failure!"

"But," Grover replied, "I cannot leave Charlie. He _always_ hires cute, furry, little Grover."

"I'll quadruple your salary," the smirking woman offered with a sultry voice full of temptation, pointing her index finger at the waiter. "I'll even compensate Charlie by accelerating his business loan application. I'll approve it myself. You'll both end up rich. What do you say?"

Grover put his fingers up to his lips, lowering his head in deep thought. He took out his fingers to ask, "The word 'quadruple' … that is like multiplying by four, right?"

Ms. Bitterman grinned. "It is," she replied. "And if you don't like customer service, there's a whole list of positions you can fill at Bitterman: loan officer, security man, financial counselor … there's no end to the rungs on the career ladder for _you_, my good man."

Mr. Johnson sighed. "That's it," he stated with deep resignation, almost to the verge of crying. "I'm going to go jump in front of a taxi."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

(Summer, 2011AD)

Kermit, barely two-feet-tall, stood supervising, with one hand above his eyes, the Rock-climbing Wall Construction Team on a bright sunny day in Central Park. The area was closed off to visitors with yellow "Caution" tape, though occasionally muppets and monsters would pose with those who begged for pictures. After all, they didn't want to make their audience unhappy. The muppets had been struggling to make ends meet for a couple of decades, forced to take less-than-minimum-wage just to keep the Theater afloat. Thankfully, with a little cross-promotion, ticket sales had started to pick up, when it was agreed to trade some cast members with Sarah Williams. Little crossovers here and there wouldn't hurt, surely, Kermit started to think to himself.

He turned his head and spotted Toby in a gray tank top and jean shorts sitting at a laptop several yards away, with Gonzo, a hook-nosed blue furry "alien", wearing a loud yellow T-shirt with black blotches and slick black dress pants and some purple flip-flops and some rose-colored sunglasses, pointing at the screen. Those two were still plotting the best setup for the different athletic/sports areas with Toby's software. Kermit smiled to himself. Toby had taken a bigger interest in helping where he could ever since the Great Fraggle Evacuation. He also refused to accept any wages, which was also a great help. However, he did request Bunsen and Beaker's help with some big science project he had set his mind on, and Kermit felt obligated to agree to it. After all, keeping those two busy meant fewer technical problems at the Theater.

"Hey Kermit," a low-key gruff male voice said behind him, "I need to talk to ya for a minute." Kermit turned around and looked up a bit to see Rowlf, sucking on an orange popsicle. Rowlf always had this cheerful "whatever, dude" look to him, which Kermit had always admired. Kermit tried to be like Rowlf, but he always fell prey to the mayhem around him. And then there was _her_, of course.

"Yeah, Rowlf?" Kermit replied.

"I think I came up with a name for your sports thing," he offered cheerfully. "It even ties into the Theater for cross-promotion like you wanted."

"Oh?"

Rowlf tried hard to keep a straight face. He kept his black lips tight for a couple of seconds until he could say it without laughing: "'Break a Leg'". He started to snicker.

Kermit face contorted in that disbelieving expression of his. "Ha ha … cute, Rowlf, cute." He gave his old friend a strained smile. "I don't think the insurance companies would appreciate that."

"Oh, do you think so?" Rowlf asked, smirking. "I didn't know slogans could be _a_ppreciated or _de_preciated!" He snickered some more, covering his face in embarrassment over such a bad pun. He stuck the tongue depressor from his finished popsicle in his mouth, gnawing on it casually. He slapped Kermit on the back. "So, anyway, Kermit," he added, his tone getting more serious after a long pause, "when'd she come back?"

Kermit swallowed hard. "Who?" he asked nervously. "Don't tell me Wanda's here looking for a job again."

Rowlf shook his head and kept his voice quiet. "Your 'Athletic Coordinator', Kermit. How'd you get her to come back?"

Kermit stared at Rowlf for several minutes, despite the hollers of pain coming from a monster whose foot was stuck under the rock climbing wall frame. He sighed. He couldn't keep secrets from Rowlf. Not for long, anyway, he thought to himself. He hung his head. "I told her … ESPN … would be here all week … covering the event," he answered slowly and sadly.

"You _lied_ to her?"

Kermit shrugged. "They might still show up," he offered weakly. He looked up at the big brown dog, who wore a skeptical expression. "Rowlf, this is the twenty-first century. If I have to film her myself and put it up on Youtube, that's what I'll do." He jabbed a thin green finger into the rotund belly of his friend. "She'll _get_ her exposure, Rowlf," he stated emphatically. "_That's_ all she cares about and _that's_ what she'll get."

_

* * *

It was the New Year's after the Family Christmas at Mrs. Bear's house, Fozzie's mother. Rowlf sipped a small fruity mixed drink at El Sleazo, which had been turned into a swank sports bar a couple of years ago. A small black-and-white television set sat on the table, where Rowlf watched the year's highlights as techno-pop filled the air with those awful synthetic sounds._

_Skeeter sat down opposite him on a small black chair, her red hair swaying with small multicolored beads on each thick strand, glitter on her eyelids, neon pink blouse and neon green spandex leggings, and a yellow band around her wrist with little red hearts drawn on them made from what looked to be a segment of Venetian blinds. She nodded and Rowlf nodded back. They silently watched television for a little while. Then, she spoke in a serious voice. "I'll be heading to South America soon to train in some martial arts down there," she said as if reading from a daily planner._

_Rowlf nodded and continued to sip his drink._

_Skeeter frowned. "Rowlf, look," she told him, "theater work is fine for all of you … but I want to be an Olympic gold medalist."_

_Rowlf stopped sipping and looked across the table, leaning forward slightly, his eyes betraying a suppressed hurt. "I'm not trying to stop you."_

_Skeeter gritted her teeth and shifted in her chair uncomfortably. She retorted in an angry whisper, her orange hands clasping the edges of the table, "Why can't you people be proud of me? Why do all of you act like I abandon the group because I actually want to BE somebody?"_

_Rowlf suppressed a sigh and shrugged, chugging down the last of his drink and smacking his lips. He stared at the table. "Must be that 'Pathetic' label we've all got stuck to our heads." He flashed the subtlest frown and stared at her. "You know us … we're so provincial that way."_

_Skeeter sighed and leaned back, letting go of the table. She stared at the television. "I'm not Piggy, Rowlf," she said finally, avoiding his stare._

"_Do you base that assessment on the fact that, unlike her, you're independent, condescending, or desperate for attention?" he sniped back (in his usual laid-back voice, of course). "It's the pot calling the kettle 'black', isn't it?" He shook his head. "I don't take that stuff from her and I won't take it from you, either, Skeets," he added, his voice growing more tense by the sentence. "I'm not zero-percent fat. I KNOW that. I'm not into playing GOLF, much less that suicidal 'skateboarding' fad that'll get everyone killed in a year. I've been one-hundred percent honest with you, Skeets." He sighed, nodding to the bartender for another round. "I just wish you'd give me the same courtesy," he said sadly._

_Skeeter's lip quivered. "Do you REALLY think I'm so shallow?" She turned to him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Rowlf, we've been friends longer than I've spoken to my own BROTHER. Doesn't that say ANYTHING to you?"_

_The bartender showed up, leaving Rowlf a margarita. Rowlf took a sip from the slushy drink. "Even the PIG comes back to the frog when she's lonely."_

_Skeeter slapped the table, stood up, and flung the glass at Rowlf, drenching him in frozen alcohol. Her voice quivered, "Maybe your perennial girlfriend 'Margarita' tastes better in your mouth!" She slammed the chair up against the table and turned slightly. "I am NOT Piggy!"_

* * *

"Kermit," Rowlf sighed, staring intently at his little green friend, "I've already discussed this with her back at her place. She wanted to come … this time," he added unsurely. Kermit stared at him. 'Discuss' was Rowlf's word for 'argue'. Rowlf looked around. "She wants to be more socially responsible."

Kermit patted Rowlf on the shoulder gingerly. "They denied her again, huh?" he asked in a quiet and knowing voice. The old dog nodded without replying verbally. Kermit sighed, motioning for Rowlf to join him on an impromptu walk in the park. As they left the area, Kermit confessed, "I tried not to believe your story, Rowlf. I always figured Piggy was my unique problem. I mean, I knew Skeeter had been headstrong just as much as Piggy, even as a kid. But," he added after a small pause, "when you said she tossed out all our home movies with her in them and left you for South America … I couldn't believe she was that selfish and vindictive. You were always my role model. I didn't … I didn't want you to experience the sensation of being strung along in a relationship."

Rowlf smiled and draped a heavy arm on the back of his friend. "Kermit, what did I tell you in that hotel lobby, huh? I told you my trouble was women. We sang song about it, remember?"

"Yeah, but --."

"No, 'but' nothing," Rowlf replied, cheering up. "I only think of it as a curse when I've had too much to drink … which is what happened between me and Skeeter." He patted his friend on the back. "Kermit, I'm okay. Life moves on. I'm an old dog and I don't intend on learning any other tricks. I'm flattered you wanted to protect me … but we dogs don't let that sort of thing leash us for too long," he added, chuckling. He stopped, nodding in the direction ahead of them. "Besides, let's focus on that competition-slash-educational experience." He pointed ahead. "I think _they'll_ make the insurance company wet themselves."

Kermit followed Rowlf's gaze until he saw a troop of metallic-clad creatures of all shapes and sizes approaching, looking as though they were ready for a medieval battle. A tall green-skinned heavily muscularized 'man' with a square jaw fitted with a trimmed goatee marched up to Kermit and Rowlf and saluted by pounding a fist on his chest, his armor chinking incessantly when he moved. The being had long slicked back black hair, which swayed slightly in a breeze. His voice was deep and commanding. "Kermit the Frog … by order of our master, we offer combat training classes for your war games exercise later this week."

Kermit shook while Rowlf whistled as he glanced at the leader in appreciation of his bulk. Kermit shivered and barely spoke. "Uh, th … that's n-nice," he exclaimed, craning his neck up at a being that seemed to step out of the Lord of the Rings. "Wh-who are you?"

The 'man' could not help but smile, his sharpened teeth glistening in the sun. He enjoyed making smaller creatures quiver. "I am Candlewic, general of the forces of the Goblin Kingdom. With your permission, we would participate in your tests of skill and strength."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

(Summer, 2011AD)

Beastie sniffed the large ladder and shook its head, backing away. It looked warily at its master, Tosh. It pointed at a stray metal shard poking out of the rock wall near the ladder.

Tosh shook her head, shivering. She glanced at Lou, who jogged in place to keep warm. "Someone got injured on that ladder, Lou," Tosh noted sadly. "Beastie doesn't think it's a good idea to climb a broken ladder that brought blood."

Lou shook her head as she jogged. Her voice was filled with determination. "I'm not going to freeze to death in here because you two are a bunch of cowards," she told them. She inhaled deeply and lunged and leapt and caught hold of the upper rungs of the ladder. She scrambled up and crawled into a tunnel not much bigger than a Fraggle. She looked around and glanced at Tosh and Beastie, who looked on her in awe. "Hey!" she exclaimed excitedly. "It's not icy up here!"

After crawling through the rocky tunnel, they found a hole that led to some strange room that reminded them of the kind of rooms Gobo's Uncle Traveling Matt used to describe: plastered walls, strange boxes and half-melted metal objects … Lou, Tosh and Beastie gawked eagerly at what was clearly some place used by Silly Creatures. They also noticed a design repeated all over the place: a black emblem with a white seedling in the middle, surrounded by straight line trigrams. They walked around and noticed a large hole on the opposite side of the room. However, there was a large stain in the middle of the floor. Beastie shivered and whimpered.

Tosh sighed, combing her pink fingers through her algae-tinged short hair. "C'mon, Beastie, whatever happened here happened long ago. Lou is right. We need to find the tunnel back to the Rock." She shook her head. "Cantus has got Cave Madness or something."

"That's not nice," Lou lectured, following Tosh and Beastie toward the large hole.

Tosh turned and glared at her. "Cantus sent us on a wild purple sproinger chase, Lou. He sent us on a journey that's gonna get us killed before we ever get back to the Rock."

Lou snorted in indignation. "Don't strain yourself being so positive, Tosh."

They found a small round object on the wall next to the hole. Beastie reared up and pushed it with a single paw. They all leapt backwards several feet at the sudden sound of mechanical grinding. A metal platform appeared from high above what must have been a vertical tunnel. The Fraggles (and Tosh's pet) glanced at each other warily and shrugged, hopping onto the platform. It groaned and shuddered and started rising through the vertical tunnel.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, they decided to sit down. Lou broke out a small radish bar from a pocket in her maroon blouse and broke it into three and shared it with the others. They looked up. A long way up the tunnel was a bright light coming from the side. Lou chomped on her piece of the radish bar (which looked like a Fruit Roll-Up, but stiffer). "This is a very long tunnel," she noted in between bites, her tail swishing back and forth.

Beastie groaned in agreement.

When they at last reached the top, the platform stopped with a squeaky jolt and they blinked at the sudden infusion of bright sunlight, shielding their eyes. When their eyes adjusted, they cautiously walked out into an area filled with broken metal shelves and ivy and flowers and a peculiar humid, musty smell.

"What _is_ this place?" Tosh gasped in awe. "It's got more plants than the Gorg's garden!"

Lou smiled widely. "It's … it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen!" she exclaimed, sniffing a purple flower. "It's _so_ much better than that stuffy Silly Creature cave."

Tosh glanced around and noticed Beastie staring toward some trees, its ears perked up. "Beastie? What is it, sweetie?" she asked, adjusting her light blue tank top. "What do you --?"

Lou crept up behind Tosh as they listened intently. A gaggle of barely audible whispers streamed through the trees. As soon as they ended, a grating sound much worse than the squeaky metal platform developed. What scared them even more, though, was the sight of branches and leaves flying up as though ripped from the plants below. A column of grey-black smoke rose from beyond the edge of the treeline, making the lost trio gasp and shudder, inching back away slowly.

Tosh grasped Lou's hand with a death grip. "Wh-what do you think that is? Is that the Invisible Gargoyle?"

Lou's voice shook. "I … I d-dunno."

It disappeared just as suddenly.

Tosh and Lou looked at each other. A tremendous groaning filled them with dread, but they couldn't help feeling … odd.

_Stop me_, they heard in a garbled whispered chorus.

Tosh spoke first. "D-did you notice it disappeared when we said it was invisible?"

Lou nodded, nervously twirling her long pink hair with purple strands in her fingers. "If it really _were_ the Invisible Gargoyle … why did we see it as smoke before? It should _always_ be invisible, right?"

_Eem eeb oot veeleb oot mees_, the whispers sang with melancholy voices.

Tosh glanced to her side, noting Beastie's cocked head to one side, its tail twitching in anticipation … the behavior it exhibited when it wasn't one-hundred percent certain of a visitor's identity. To be sure, though … Beastie was no longer shaking.

An unearthly roar vibrated the ground beneath them. The trees all around them started to shake and shatter.

"Maybe it's Skenfrith!" Lou blurted out finally, making Tosh and Beastie jump, clutching at their hearts and gasping loudly for breath. Lou stared at Tosh. "Remember, Tosh? He was just barely bigger than us, brown and shaggy, with no visible eyes and a happy, even cheerful disposition." She jerked at Tosh's arm. "_Remember_?" she goaded.

Tosh nodded, taking the hint. "Right! Skenfrith is a great friend to the Fraggles and the Gorgs and anyone else he meets!" she announced to the trees, the shaking of which was starting to die down. "Some Silly Creatures probably thought he was a monster! But he's not! He's the kindest, not-scariest creature in all of Fraggle Rock!"

Tosh and Lou began to sing cheerfully, with Beastie mewing along in harmony:

_We only see what we seem to believe to be you,_

_Making-believe that the dream in our head could be you._

_But it's oooonly we … that we see._

_But it's oooonly we … that we see._

The roar and the shaking stopped.

A few branches at ground level snapped as a furry brown object lunged at them. It jumped on Lou and Tosh, hugging them in its shaggy arms. Its voice was high-pitched and scratchy. "Oh, Fraggles! Oh, Fraggles! Oh, how I love Fraggles and Gorgs and anyone else I meet!" it babbled wildly. Just as suddenly it was sobbing. "They made me into the most horrible monster, dear Fraggles!" Skenfrith continued. "I _told_ Red and Wembley I don't like being a monster! I had to do bad things! I was even scarier than the Terrible Tunnel!" Despite his weight making them uncomfortable, they patted him on the back.

"You're safe now, Skenfrith," Lou groaned.

Skenfrith let them up and shook his head, wiping away tears from his snout. "Oh no, dear Fraggles!" he replied in terror. "Those creatures have this thing that teleports me here from anywhere … even the Gorg's garden!" He whimpered, his knees shaking. "It makes me into that horrible m-monster! And then when I try to stop them, they lead me to these posts with bells on them that make this awful noise that hurts me worse than getting stomped on by a Gorg!" He sat down on his knees and cried. "I am whatever you believe me to be! How could those creatures want me to be something so _mean_?"

Tosh dusted herself off and nodded sympathetically. "If you know where they summon you, maybe we can do something to stop them."

After many hours of walking both in the jungle and through some tunnels, the openings of which were too small for Silly Creatures, they finally arrived at a large engraved door. Skenfrith whimpered and shivered. "D-do y-you t-think you can h-help m-me?" he asked timidly. "I … I don't w-want to be a monster any… anymore."

Lou and Tosh each patted Skenfrith on his narrow shoulders and Beastie licked Skenfrith's cheek. "Don't you believe we can?" the Fraggle girls asked.

Skenfrith shrugged slightly. "I believe whatever you believe."

The trio smiled. "Then we believe we can help you!" exclaimed the Fraggles, while Beastie roared in agreement.

Soon they found themselves within a hidden cave behind the engraved door. It was dark and they couldn't see, even if they hummed or sang little ditties. They heard Beastie sniff around and groan quietly as if it were talking to itself.

Tosh whispered, "Beastie smells something." They could hear Beastie growl as it clamped its jaws onto something and growled and snarled until a loud snap confirmed it had broken whatever was there.

Suddenly they heard soft whispers that didn't sound as scary as the ones where all those flowers were: _Hip hip hip hip hooree! Let's shout for you and me. We beat the beast, so we'll have a feast and now it's time for tea!_

A faint light was just barely visible coming from a small distance ahead. All four approached it and discovered a Fraggle Hole. They rushed inside to ensure it really … YES IT WAS! The multi-colored lighting of the Rock greeted them, as well as the smells of rock daisies and … and …

Cantus stood there with the Storyteller, smiling. He clapped his hands and spoke gently. "Congratulations, dear Fraggles … and Beastie, of course," he added. "You saw what could not be seen and heard what was never heard and freed Skenfrith from the Heart of that place."

"Yes," Skenfrith added, hugging and kissing the rescuing trio. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Skenfrith," Tosh started timidly, stroking his chest fur gently, avoiding eye contact, "I believe you can do anything you want to do from now on."

"I believe that, too," Lou added. Beastie nodded in agreement.

Skenfrith took a couple steps back and gasped. "You honestly believe that?"

Cantus nodded, his smile weary but warm. "And we believe it as well. To be forced to dance to another's tune must be horrible indeed."

Skenfrith began to reply, but couldn't find the words and hugged Cantus, sniffling. He nodded and skipped away, humming to himself. Cantus and the Storyteller glanced at the Fraggles Who Were Found. The Storyteller smiled and patted them on the shoulders. "Tosh, Lou … why don't you head over to the Great Hall and celebrate. I'll be back shortly to get that story from you so I can add it to my collection."

The trio laughed and shouted "Whoopie!" and dashed away, singing and dancing loudly a medley of songs that announced they were finally home.

The Storyteller sighed as she heard Cantus approach the tunnel the heroes had come from. Without looking, her tail slightly drooping, she said softly, "Cantus…."

_Come gather round you Fraggle clan and hear the tale I tell,_

_About a Minstrel true who had known of the Rock's Great Bell,_

_About two Fraggle's bravery, about a creature's curse,_

_About a quest to save him from fate that could not be worse,_

_About the tunnel back from which he never came again,_

_About the Minstrel, the Rock, where he sang his last refrain._

_The Minstrel united Rock and Cave, and the Gorgs as well,_

_Everybody loved him for he could make their spirits swell._

_The flowers bloomed, the lights did light, the Rock was harmonized,_

_Lou, Tosh, and Beastie followed his plan, thought disorganized._

_They saved Skenfrith from the darkness, the violence, and the pain._

_Then old Cantus left the Rock and he never came again._


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

(Summer, 2011AD)

Ms. Bitterman checked her voicemail again for the fifth time today, tapping her long glossy fingernails impatiently on her office desk made of a black metal frame and a glass oval surface.

Nothing.

At least, nothing she wanted to hear. Most were spammy messages about getting a new home mortgage or new credit cards … like she needed those.

**Beep.**

**Ms. Bitterman?** The male voice was high-pitched and gravelly. **This is your cute, furry pal Grover. I just wanted you to know the very, VERY good news, Ms. Bitterman! I have been counting VERY hard … and J. P.'s debt is almost fully repaid! Is that not nice to hear? I am sure Froggy-baby will be SO happy!**

Great, she thought to herself, frowning. How will she extort Kermit now? He was from that overbearing neighborhood, same as Grover. Surely Kermit would have figured it out by now. Then again, she smiled to herself, he hadn't told her about it. Maybe he still wasn't aware of his situation.

She frowned again. The little green smear was also too nice to rub it in her face, too.

_

* * *

Dance your cares away,_

_Ain't got no worries, you say?_

_C'mon, girl, let's play,_

_Right behind that rock!_

A baritone upbeat humming filled the tunnel leading to the Gorg's garden, punctuated by loud cackles to unheard jokes. The sunlight from the Fraggle hole illuminated an approaching pale blue Fraggle with shoulder-length red hair, a multi-colored polka-dotted tank top, a red armband on each wrist, and a red and yellow patchwork cloth hat accessorized with lots of feathers of different colors and sizes. He stopped singing to himself as soon as he saw the taller lavender Fraggle with bluish-white shoulder-length hair, a burlap long-sleeved gown over a bright blue sweater, panting slowly just around a corner. She seemed fixated on the opposite wall, though nothing was there.

"C'mon, Mokey, lighten up!" the smaller male Fraggle exclaimed heartily, slapping her on the shoulder. "A giggle a day keeps the blues away!" He spotted something on her nose. His head bounced up and down as he dramatically surveyed her face. "Mokey," he said, his voice showing a tinge of concern, "you've got rock mites on your face!"

Mokey bit her lower lip, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and turned to her companion. She opened her eyes and stared at him. "I'm not infested with rock mites, Boober," she noted in a weary but dreamy high-pitched voice that always managed to soothe those around her.

"Boober" scoffed and shoved her, nearly knocking her over. "Please! Do I look like that awful stick-in-the-mud to you?"

"Sidebottom, I apologize," she replied in a deeper, sultrier voice. "It's just I'm having trouble getting radishes today."

Sidebottom, the quirky "fun" side of Boober, smiled and shrugged. "If I had just put on some crystal dust makeup on _my_ nose, _I_ wouldn't want it to get filthy either!"

Mokey shook her head, her panting stopping. "It's not crystal dust either," she continued in her deeper voice. She inhaled. "How can I put this? They're just little specks that make going out in the sun very difficult for me sometimes."

* * *

The phone had been ringing off the hook all morning long. Scooter had nearly wiped himself out running the Theater while Kermit was busy over in Central Park. He had stayed in his small office room to keep away from all the noisy mayhem that was part and parcel of working at the Muppet Theater so he could have business conversations that didn't involve lots of yelling and screaming. More than once he had had to apologize to investors and reporters … especially when loud screams were accompanied by the sounds of explosions.

A brief knocking startled him as he had started to fill out some spreadsheets on his computer. It had taken him nearly five years to save up enough for even a low-end desktop, but it sure made his life a lot easier. Paperwork was hard enough without the threat of Animal or someone eating it or using it for the bathroom.

He turned to the door just as it opened. An orange head with long red hair peered out from the doorway. "Fifteen seconds to curtain, Scooter," a cheerful female voice announced, giggling.

Scooter gasped as his visitor finally came into view, wearing a white short-sleeved T-shirt with sports logos printed on the front and blue jeans and red and white sneakers. "Skeeter?"

Skeeter bounded up to him, embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Yep! Thought I'd come in and say 'hey'!" She glanced around his office. The room was filled with boxes and computer equipment. "So," she continued, "you're the bookworm of the theater group, huh?"

"At least I'm not a dumb jock," Scooter retorted.

Skeeter stared at him and started laughing, slapping her brother on the back. "Good one!" She wiped away a tear from her eye. "Nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor, Bro."

Scooter stared at his sister in utter confusion. He leaned back against his desk. She would've socked him had he said that when they were kids. She seemed … happy. "Uh," he started, "what brings you to New York?"

Skeeter shrugged, looking around, and finally planting herself on a box near his desk. She looked up at him. "Oh, this and that, you know," she replied, smiling. "I'm Kermit's Athletic Director for that thing he's got later this week."

Scooter's face fell slightly. He tried to keep his voice calm and even cheerful. "Since when? Today? Did you just get in?"

Skeeter's eyes widened. "You … he … he didn't …?"

Scooter shook his head and turned toward his computer. "Musta slipped his mind," Scooter mumbled. "He's been kinda busy lately."

Skeeter walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He still avoided her gaze. "Scooter … I didn't know you didn't know."

Scooter typed. After about a minute, he shot back, "Phones are amazing little gadgets, Sis. They even allow for two-way communication nowadays."

Skeeter frowned and backed up a couple of steps. "You must not be able to afford outgoing calls," she sniped back. "Must be very hard to do business if you don't ever initiate a conversation."

The pause was long and insufferable. Finally, Scooter mumbled, "Welcome to New York, Sis."

Skeeter growled. "Don't, Scooter, just don't, okay?" She pointed at him angrily even though he wasn't looking at her. "I've already had this discussion with Rowlf --."

"So Rowlf knew you were back too? _Great_," Scooter moaned. "I guess we're all having a wonderful little family reunion. Too bad _actual_ family wasn't told until just now."

Skeeter balled up her fists, gritted her teeth, and glared at her brother. She silently counted to thirty. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Scooter, I … I apologize if I've seemed distant all these years," she told him solemnly. "I don't want it to stay this way. You live your life and I'll live mine. Everybody's happy."

"Whatever."

Skeeter sighed and walked toward the door. "Write this down on your little spreadsheet, Bro – _I_ made the effort to patch things up first."

_

* * *

Rachel Bitterman had just graduated high school at the top of her class. She had worked extra hard for her position. Namely, she had smeared her competition and drove many of her rivals to drop out. She was beaming. She stood up through the opening in the limo's ceiling, whooping and hollering as it flew down the streets of Manhattan. She sat down opposite a twenties-ish young woman with soft black shoulder-length hair. They both wore snazzy dresses fit for the night life that Rachel was still too young to enjoy (legally). They had had a couple of drinks from the limo's cooler and were laughing._

"_C'mon, I wanna get a tattoo like yours," Rachel announced spontaneously to her friend, who had a triangular red mark over her left eye._

_Her friend smirked. "It's NOT a tattoo, I said," she replied coldy. "It's like a birthmark."_

_Rachel shrugged and took another sip. "Birthmark smirthmark. I want us to look exactly the same."_

_There was a long pause. "You and I work really well together, Rach," the older young adult noted with a weak smile. "But you're just not my type."_

_Rachel nearly choked. She gasped and gawked at her companion. "What do you mean? This isn't one of those arbitrary 'You're too young for me' kind of things is it?"_

_The other young woman shook her head and crossed her arms. "No, this is one of those 'I have pre-existing arrangements that don't include you' kind of things. It's not personal. You don't have to get so upset over it."_

_Rachel's eyes started to tear up. She frowned. "You're already in a relationship? I am NOT 'the other woman', I'll have you know! I'm ALWAYS the better choice!" she barked._

**Beep.**

**Ms. Bitterman?** A deep guttural male voice spoke. **Your repeated requests for a meeting have not gone unnoticed. Please be advised that at this time Ms. Moraine cannot attend due to mitigating circumstances. She hopes you are well and that business is going along nicely. She will contact you at her earliest convenience.**

* * *

Sidebottom's jaw nearly fell to the floor. "_That's_ what this is all about?" He fell to the floor laughing. "That is the _silliest_ thing I've ever heard!"

Mokey's face slackened, downcast. "You think I'm silly, then?" she replied in a smooth, sultry, and sad voice.

Sidebottom popped up and patted her on the back. "Are you kidding? I _love_ silly! I thrive on mayhem and merriment!" He shrugged. "I'm not very fond of starving to death, though," he continued with a mischievous smile. "It's your job to get the radishes, but that doesn't mean we can't share in the fun too! Just you wait – I'll have half the garden in here by sundown!"

Mokey whipped a hand onto Sidebottom's arm before he could dash out into the garden. "It's not right to just take their food, you know."

Sidebottom looked at her like she had just spoken gibberish. "What are you _talking_ about? I'm not gonna get thumped by Gorgs! Where have you _been_? They haven't tried to kill us for decades!"

Mokey shook her head. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't ask for permission."

Sidebottom nodded. "Right." He leaned toward the opening that led to the garden and put his free hand to his mouth. "Hey Gorgs! I'm gonna get some veggies! Say somethin' if you don't think I should!" he bellowed. After waiting a couple of beats, he shrugged and turned to Mokey. "Not a peep! Permission granted!" he announced cheerfully. He peeled her hand off his arm. "Look, Mokey, I intend to party as hard as I can in Outer Space. If you want to sit in Fraggle Rock and watch moss dry, be my guest." He pointed at himself. "I tell you what – I'll carve a little happy face in the side of a radish for you as a present, okay? Maybe we can take some twigs and make little radish dolls out of them and have little skits out in the middle of the Great Hall. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

* * *

Skeeter sighed, wiping away a tear as she walked down the stairs to the first floor of the Backstage area. She turned to her left and walked over to the desk just offstage where a ton of papers and odds and ends lay. She sat down on a stool and stared at the desk.

"Hey, Scooter, I thought you said we were having lunch today!" a cheerful male voice announced. Skeeter turned to see an obese pig with a thin tuft of black hair on top of his head, nearly five feet tall in a gray Armani suit standing beside her, impatiently tapping his foot. Suddenly, he looked her up and down, his eyes widening. "This is new," he commented dryly, putting a hand to his lips. "I had no idea you had decided to present." He wrapped his thick arms around her and sniffed. "I am _so_ proud of you, you little bright ray of sunshine, you!"

Skeeter grunted as she tore herself away from him. "What on Earth are you talking about? I'm not Scooter – I'm his _sister_!"

The pig gasped and stumbled backwards. "His … his … _sister_!" He nodded exaggeratedly. "Oh, he has a --," he laughed nervously, clearing his throat. "Ahem! What I meant to say was, 'Have you seen your brother around?' I mean, I'm on vacation here in NYC and I thought I'd stop by and see how the Great White Way was nowadays! Heh heh!"

Skeeter frowned. "You are?"

The pig slapped his forehead. "Oh, where are my manners? Hollywood – go fig, you know?" He shook her hand. "Bobby Vegan. Actor extraordinaire, loving father," he showed her a bright gold ring with massive diamonds on it, "and _married_!" he shrieked, shrugging. "Of course, it wasn't as fabulous as the frog's wedding … but we were kinda in a rush."

"Congratulations," Skeeter replied with a frown. "You and Scooter are friends or something?"

Bobby gasped and shook his head, waving his arms dismissively. "Not like 'friend' friends, you know. Strictly business. Completely aboveboard, uh...."

"Skeeter," she offered curtly.

Bobby stared at her for a few moments. "My, how derivative. You must know that little porky starlet. You definitely have the same taste in creative nomenclature."

"Better to be derivative than ironic," she shot back, unable to keep from smirking.

Bobby leaned close, squinting. He laughed and slapped her on the shoulder. "I hope they keep _you_, toots. I like your spunk!"


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

(Summer, 2011AD)

Nine o' clock in the morning and Central Park was filled to the brim with people and all different types of creatures. The place was divided into several sections within Sheep Meadow in the South End, which was a large fifteen acre stretch of grass bordered by trees. Sesame Street, in the northwest corner, maintained some nutritious snack pavilions and typical playground equipment such as slides, swings, and such. Their playgrounds also had ramps and tactile puzzles for those without the full range of senses and mobility. The Fraggle Rock area in the northeast consisted of several fabricated rock walls of varying difficulty, aboveground tunnels for greaseberry leaf-racing and stunts, and two rock hockey arenas (one for muppet and fraggle-sized visitors and one for taller visitors like humans adults and some monsters). Rock hockey was a unique blend of basketball, hockey, football, target practice … the rules were so complicated that for the most part it wasn't necessary to worry about them. The important thing was to just have fun. In the southeast stood a circular arena filled with armor and weapons made out of Styrofoam (at the prolonged insistence of Kermit), with bleachers surrounding it. Candlewic, general of the goblins from the Goblin Kingdom, instructed visitors on basic goblin military strategy before they could practice against goblins or each other. Finally, the southwest corner, sponsored by the Muppet Theater, had a small stage for learning how various stunts were performed and an Epcot-like whirlwind tour of various types of sporting events, from biking on nearby paths to a skate park to a large fan for simulating skydiving.

In the center was a large circular wooden stage with lighting rigs suspended above it. As the morning wore on, the Electric Mayhem band set up their instruments and spoke with two visitors: a gangly Caucasian male with long curly brown hair and wild eyes, and a light blue Fraggle with a brown cap and a red scarf. They spent a few moments working out the details of how the duet would go and then took their places. The human male, wearing a cheap mockup of a biohazard suit (the helmet was made out of papier-mâché), tapped the microphone as the band started a slow, dramatic tune.

_Sometimes I really want to be alone_

_But that's one state I'm never in_

_Because I know that I've got millions upon millions_

_Of tiny, one-celled organisms living on my skin._

The light blue Fraggle nodded, holding his own microphone as he sat atop a large speaker, singing:

_They'll come from the east._

_They'll come from the west._

_They're coming to get you when you wake and when you rest._

The man nodded, his fake helmet nearly coming off. "Tell me about it, Boober, li'l buddy …."

Boober shuddered. "Al, you're the first Silly Creature I've met to be this knowledgeable about infection!" he announced cheerfully as he continued:

_You know they're name is contagious._

_Their number's outrageous._

_They're wriggling and raging like worms._

_And it wiggles and squirms._

_I'm talkin' 'bout germs!_

"Aren't they awful?" Weird Al Yankovic gasped as both of them pretended to wipe themselves off wildly. "I mean," he said, as they both sang together:

_They're all over me_

_I can feel' em all over me_

_Over every part of me_

_Microscopic bacteria_

_I know they're watching me_

_They're always watching me_

_They're coming after me_

_Microscopic bacteria_

_Won't somebody help me_

_Please sombody help me_

_You've got to believe me_

_They're out to get me_

_They wanna control me_

_They wanna destroy me_

_They're tryin' to kill me_

_It kind of upsets me_!

[song spliced from Weird Al's "Germs" from _Running with Scissors_ and Boober's "Talkin' Bout Germs" from _Pebble Pox Blues[Fraggle Rock]_]

* * *

Skeeter, wearing a navy blue biking helmet and joint pads, walked up to the aboveground tunnel in the Fraggle Rock section and watched for several minutes. She started to get in line, behind a group of slimy human children (for some, greaseberry juice was more amusing to wear than to use in sports), she heard someone excitedly calling out her name. She looked and the obese pink Fraggle with the unkempt brown hair ran towards her, his arms waving madly. When he finally got to her, he bent over to catch his breath, his short brown jacket starting to show some pitstains. "Hey, Skeeter," he huffed and puffed, clutching his knees, "I saw you over at that 'skate park' thing and I wanted you to know that I think you are positively magical! I've never _seen_ such aerial grace and beauty … the way you twirled that wheeled board on the edges, the way you hopped gracefully from rail to rail, the way you glided effortlessly across the ground --."

Skeeter smiled and touched him on one shoulder. "Thanks, uh, Marvin, was it? I tried my best." She nodded. "I'm sure with enough practice you can be athletic too."

Large Marvin took a step back, staring at her confusedly. "Uh, I _am_ an athlete?"

"Speed eating?" she replied with her eyelids in a droopy droll expression.

Marvin shook his head, still looking quite puzzled. "No, I am one of the top swimmers and splashers of Fraggle Rock. Only Red and Gobo can match me." He grabbed her by the hand and started pulling. "Let's go back to that place with the U-shaped platform you skated on. What is it called?"

"The half-pipe?"

"Yeah, that's it," Marvin nodded enthusiastically. Skeeter nearly flew behind him as he dashed south toward the half-pipe. Marvin grabbed a board and wrapped his tail around it, skittered up the ladder to the deck of the half-pipe some 14 feet high, and waved to Skeeter down below on the ground, bowing graciously to the cheers and mutterings of the crowd.

Marvin stood atop the skateboard, moved it to the lip, holding one edge with his right hand, and gently pushed his front left foot down, making him zip down the ramp, up the other ramp, and back again. Marvin did this several times until he got used to the momentum and the sensation of speed and gravity. He wrapped his tail around the board again as he hopped back onto the deck, nodded with satisfaction, and announced cheerfully, "Okay, here I go!"

He gave a loud whoop as he careened down the ramp, nearly squatting against the board, waited until he reached the top of the opposite side, kicked the skateboard up ahead of him, twirled around to face downwards, grabbed the board with his tail, whipped it back underneath him just as he made contact with the transition part of the ramp (the curvy part), rode it with his belly against the board partially back up the first transition, stood as he started going back down, did a headstand at the bottom, and finally kickflipped it as it came to a stop. He panted a little as the crowed erupted into applause. Skeeter could see some money change hands in several places around the half-pipe, as well as camera-equipped cell phones capturing the event.

Marvin returned the board and walked over to Skeeter, whose eyes could not get any wider. He wiped off some sweat from his brow with his jacket. "So," he asked with a tinge of exasperation, "do you think that was a good first time?"

Skeeter nodded like she was a zombie. "Th-that was your _first_ time? You didn't fall _once_."

Marvin smirked, patting himself on his chest with one hand. "Of _course_ … I have been told I have gazelle-like prowess!" he told her with a bragging tone. He winked. "There are certain advantages to having more mass than others, you know." He looked down sheepishly, then he glanced back up at Skeeter with a hopeful tone. "Please don't think of me as being fast, but … do you … do you want to … uh … hang out with me?"

Skeeter couldn't breathe, she was so taken aback. When she at last remembered to inhale, she nodded and smiled, taking him by the hands. "Marvin, I would be honored to hang out with you."

* * *

After locating a suitable spot, the palanquin had stopped to rest. Moulin stretched her legs as Junior sat down in front of the enchanted vehicle, rubbing a reddish paste into his fur. "What is that?" Moulin asked with a bored tone.

Junior looked down at her. Even sitting down, she was less than half his size. He shrugged. "It's a wadish paste," he replied. "Ma makes it fwom wadishes."

"I gathered," Moulin responded coldly.

"Well," Junior offered with a hint of offense, "actually, _I_ gathuh wadishes."

Moulin glanced over at Jareth, who napped draped across the cab's couch, snoring slightly. She crossed her arms in indignation. "I don't see why we didn't just follow those two humans to the Council," she muttered bitterly.

"You mean Pwince Wobin da Bwave and Pwincess Melora?" Junior asked, putting away his radish cream. "I think Suh Hubwis said he wanted to go his own way."

"Typical," Moulin shot back. "Men are allergic to asking for directions. I think they actually _prefer_ being lost."

Junior stared at her. "You know, you're not a vewwy nice person, Miss Moulin," he commented dryly. He wagged a finger at her. "You haven't smiled since we met."

Moulin rolled her eyes. "Entertainment is for the masses. There's no point in frivolity on business among equals … if you could be called that," she added under her breath.

"You know what _I_ think?" Junior egged on.

Moulin snorted in disgust. "Nothing compares to knowing what you think," she replied sarcastically.

Junior pointed to himself. "_I_ t'ink you're upset because you're Mommy died. _I_ t'ink you haven't wesolved personal issues wegarding her demise." He began to sing an upbeat song:

_I feel glad and you feel sad._

_Just that kind of weather._

_Nudge your nose and touch your toes._

_Whoops! Feelin' better._

"Please don't psychoanalyze me," Moulin replied, glaring at the singing mound of fur. "Furthermore, do _not_ mock me in song!" she growled.

Still, Junior continued, jumping up and dancing:

_I say yes and you say no._

_Who can say whichever?_

_Nudge your nose and touch your toes._

_Whoops! Feelin' better._

Moulin watched as he continued to jump up and down, kicking and waving his arms and singing to the top of his lungs, bellowing out one verse after another, no matter how much she protested. She motioned for her cloud companion, ordering it quietly to soak the ground underneath the gigantic Gorg's feet. Junior squealed as he fell flat on his back, rocking the ground beneath him and waking Jareth, who started swearing and demanding what in the Underground was going on.

Both Jareth and Junior, though, were shocked to see Moulin doubled over, laughing to the point of making her hoarse, tears streaming from her tightly-shut eyes.

* * *

Pa and Ma Gorg watched the roof intently as a large gray shiny box rose into view, sunlight glinting off its surface. They sat in front of their castle at the picnic table, sipping a fruit juice concoction handed down by Ma's mother Queen Esmerelda. The sounds of drilling and pounding emanated the Gorg Kingdom, scaring birds and other creatures from their roosts.

"I still don't know why we need this new-fangled equipment," Pa groused to his wife. "We've lived for an eternity without such high-falutin' concepts as 'electricity'."

Ma patted her husband on his hand and blinked lovingly. "Now, Pa, if that nice young man can clear up Junior's sinuses and pump the water from the basement, then maybe it's for the best."

Pa shook his head and chomped down on a brownie. "It's against nature! The sun can't make lightning!" He gulped down another brownie. "And you can't store lightning in a box. I don't care _what_ that meeping little critter says."

"It's ready!" Toby announced from atop the Gorg Castle roof with a megaphone. The two Gorgs walked into the castle and found a large mechanized fan in their bedroom and Junior's bedroom, and a refrigerator with water from the basement piped into its back to cool food.

Eventually, Toby appeared, drenched in sweat, atop a windowsill where he had rappelled to from the roof. He smiled broadly as the two Gorgs approached curiously. "Well, there you go," he announced proudly. "That's all we could put in that can be powered easily from the solar cell we put on the roof, but these things should make life a little easier." He pointed down. "Now, I don't have anything that can get rid of the water in the basement … which is why I switched to the idea of pumping it to the refrigerator. It's so cold down there that it _should_ work."

Ma glanced over at her husband who stood shaking his head. "Pa, what do you say?"

Pa grumbled.

"I don't think that nice young man heard you, dear," she growled, angrily putting her hands on her hips.

"I _said_, 'Thanks for the help', oh Loving and Patient Glint in my Eye," he snapped back, rubbing his chin.

Toby smiled, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. "Well, you're welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Gorg," he said loudly so they could hear. "I hope you enjoy. If you need me, for anything at all …."


	21. Chapter 21

_**Act 3: Scavenging Pangaea**_

Chapter 21

(60,000,000BC)

_A television encased in rock was finally turned on by the remote control. The screen took a couple of seconds to display an image. It started off blue, with a white pterodactyl head in profile surrounded by a thick white circle with the words "Please Stand By" printed on it. Finally, the image changed to one with a logo of a large trilobite with steam coming out of its nostrils. A dramatic musical interlude played for a few seconds before a stern male voice-over announcer came on, "Good morning, students of Bob LaBrea High!"_

_The video cut to a student bathroom, rather large to accommodate the size of the students, with large skylights, dingy from lack of cleaning. Several beige stalls were in the back of the room, while a few white sinks were barely attached to the front walls, broken mirrors hanging above them. Just before the stalls were several potted trees to the right, with a large red and black sign nailed above them that read, "Number 1, watering trees is fun! Number 2, the stalls are for you!"_

_Suddenly, a large hulking shape appeared at the bottom of the screen, as a spiky dinosaur lumbered into the restroom. It turned to face the sink. The male dinosaur had blue-purple scales and a pale yellow underbelly. His head was triangular: a broad skull with an angular snout. Very small spikes spread across his snout, slightly lighter than the scales on his skin. Some larger spikes grew along his brows. The sides of his head were punctuated by three-inch or so horns. He wore a red bandana, which stayed in place thanks to the many spikes. His long-sleeved jacket was made of black leather, with a thin silver chain wrapped around the left shoulder and a graffiti-like patch just below the shoulder seam of a tyrannosaur skull with a bloody fork on the left of the skull and a toothed saw on the right of it and "Scavengers" written above it. The jacket was torn to accommodate sharp spikes on his back, about ten or so, which reduced in size starting around mid-back. He also wore a red tank top underneath. His long thick tail had half a dozen or so foot-long spikes emanating from it, towards the end. He wore large black boots with silver chains wrapped around the ankles._

_He walked up to the mirror and adjusted his sleeves with his left hand before turning on the water, keeping his right hand in his jacket pocket. His eyes were a piercing yellow. He cleared his throat and spoke in a smooth voice, with only the slightest hint of a hissing quality. His accent denoted a poor urban street-smart upbringing. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, as if rehearsing a speech, "it is my solemn duty to inform you of the __**disastrous**__," he said, his eyes and mouth widening for emphasis, "nature of the tale which you are about to hear." He shook his head, frowning. "It is one filled with all kinds of uncivilized behavior," he remarked, his face brightening at the thought, "and all-out mockery of manners and decorum." His head, at the end of a neck roughly forearm-length, reared back. His voice began to sound more excited. "Ladies and gentlemen … you know me to be more than willing to tell you how it is. Well, here it is … this story starts off with complete destruction, followed by some charming survival tales as we scrape and scourge the countryside to keep from getting eaten by dinosaurs even more desperate than we are! My companions, members of the Scavenger Pack, are ruthless and cringe-inducing." His face became ever more animated with a wide grin. "It has always been a pleasure to hang with my pack … and this humble little tale will express my … trials and tribulations … as the one you may recognize as the Connoisseur of Fine Females, the Maker of Deals, and the Scourge of the Swamp," he exclaimed, laughing._

_A deeper male voice could be heard clearing his throat. The spiked one looked toward the unseen door to the restroom. "Mr. Pullman?" he asked in a shocked voice. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"_

_Mr. Pullman, the science teacher of Bob LaBrea High, expressed his thoughts in a constantly condescending tone. "Spike – I __**told**__ you the school is closed today. While I appreciate your willingness to 'hang out' with the academic crowd, I must insist that you end this speech at once." He paused. His voice sounded more exasperated. "After all, the students here must not be made aware of unseemly and juvenile delinquent behavior. Your particular brand of humor is completely inappropriate for upstanding members of Pangaean society."_

_Spike smirked, chuckling. "Well, Mr. P, when I see some, I won't say a single word to 'offend', deal?"_

_A long pause. Finally, Mr. Pullman could be heard patting the door. "Well, since you seem to like it here so much, I just came in to tell you that you have been assigned to the school marching band." A long pause, as Spike's face nearly blanched. "Do get out of those atrocious threads and get your hot pink frilly uniform out of the maintenance room, got it?" The door closed. Spike, his eyes wild, stared up at the camera._

"Noooooo!" he screamed, waking up from a pile of broken boxes behind the Tavern on the Swamp, the place where he stayed most nights. Well, on those nights he felt like staying with _anyone_. The Swamp was nearly a couple hours' walk from the Sinclair home, where he liked to pop in every once in a while … to tease Rob "Scooter" Sinclair, of course. The musty smells, mixed with ample boozy breezes, filled the air. It didn't make him gag – he was far too used to it by now. It was still a ramshackle of a dump … cobweb-littered boxes everywhere, broken and warped boards forming the dive he called his home. Ever since he had taken out his leader, Andre (to save Robbie … er … to keep Scooter alive so his parents would still feed him at night), he had gradually transitioned the Scavenger HQ, bringing in Howlin' J, a cool blue mammal jazz and blues singer, and turning the old dump into a dump of a jazz hole. It was a privilege only the Leader of the Pack could do without getting his throat stripped out to make a belt. His eyes squinted in the sunlight. He checked a pocket watch. Hm, he thought, ten in the morning … an excellent time to get up and head over to the high school. It didn't matter that Bob LaBrea started classes at seven … for Spike, education was far more rewarding when it was … _self_-_paced_, he thought to himself.

"Hey, Brother Spike!" exclaimed a scratchy gruff voice from the back door. It creaked open, out popping a green long-nosed male dinosaur with black sunglasses in brown rims, and a red baseball cap adorned with a thin silver chain. He only kept his head visible, which still had a couple of scars from the battle with Spike at Rob's "funeral". He spoke as if he had chain-smoked his entire life.

Spike nodded. "How's it goin', Scabby?" he asked, feeling a little hung-over himself as he stood up, wobbling initially. He must have _really_ had a good time last night.

Scabby thrust his snout toward the direction of the high school. "You headin' out to class today?"

Spike shrugged. "Gotta go where the honies are, Scabby. 'Sides, need to talk to Scooter." The Scavenger Pack didn't always agree with their new Leader about "The Mop" (aka, Scooter, so called due to some hijinks accomplished by other packs) … though, the last time a member chided Spike about it … Andre's old second-in-command pterodactyl … Spike ate him. He never really liked the little tail-kisser anyway.

"Huh," Scabby replied, "good luck."

Spike glanced at him in confusion. "You not comin'?"

Scabby shook his head. "Can't. Drive-by eatin' scheduled today."

Spike groaned, slapping his head. "That was _today_?" Maybe it _was_ a bad idea not to have a "clerical position" in the pack after all. He took out his pocket watch. "When is it?" He paused. "Haven't taken part in one o' dose since … uh … January?"

"Well, usually you're too busy killin' time with --," Scabby stopped abruptly, noting Spike's icy glare. "Uh, you've been … um … awfully busy … uh," he stammered, his lip trembling, "providing … alternative … uh … community perspectives in … an attempt to diversify cultural attitudes." He chuckled nervously. He bowed his head (less of out respect and more of an attempt to hide the soft parts of his throat). "You're quite the inspiration to packs everywhere, Brother Spike."

"You're too kind," Spike retorted dryly.

"Hey, Spike!" a young gravelly voice shouted from atop a pile of boxes. Spike and Scabby turned to find a bright blue mammal, about two feet tall, with a narrow snout. His face was always filled with exuberance, especially now that his father's band's music was getting more popular. A few more months and they should be able to afford a bathroom in the Tavern. A working one, anyway.

Spike smirked. "What can we do for you, Sonny?"

"Dad says to come inside – the Lizard has gone pure crazy!" The 'Lizard' was a derogatory mammalian slang for dinosaurs. Although Howlin' J rarely used it anymore among his normal crowd, whenever a dinosaur instituted some stupid policy, it still came out of his mouth every once in a while.

Spike and Scabby shrugged, glancing at each other, and went inside the Tavern. The band and a few remaining members of the Scavengers huddled around a television. Spike could hear the newscaster speak solemnly. "As the cider poppy crisis enters its second week, it now appears a solution is at hand. An independent task force of concerned citizens has come forward with a plan to spray the entire super continent with a powerful chemical defoliant."

The mammals of Howlin' J's band looked at each other with trepidation, their pointed ears drooping.

Scabby shrugged. "What's the big deal?"

A shorter brown dinosaur with a turtle-like face maneuvered closer to the television. He wore a backwards black baseball cap, round black eyeglasses, a short-sleeved red shirt, a black leather vest with a silver chain draped around the right shoulder, and metal studded bracelets. Rounded tan spikes ran down his spine and along his tail. His voice was high-pitched and grating. His eyes were widened, his jaw agape. He pointed at the television. "They're planning on poisoning us _all_!" he shrieked. His finger trembled. "Such a wide distribution of poison will not only destroy the cider poppies, but it will ensure the destruction of potable drinking water and increase incidents of respiratory dysfunction and contact dermatitis!"

Everyone stared at him, unblinking.

Sonny coughed. "Uh, Crazy Lou, what you're tryin' to say is that … uh … we'll have no water, we won't breathe real good, and our skin will itch a lot?"

Crazy Lou nodded sadly, staring at the floor. "Yeah … and then we'll die."

Spike shook his head in utter disbelief. "What kind o' _idiot_ …?"

The footage showed Earl Sinclair, Robbie's old man, discussing the plan alongside that slow-witted brown tyrannosaur buddy of his.

Spike stifled a gasp. He jabbed Scabby with his left elbow. "Where's Lingo?" he asked in a tense tone.

Scabby nodded toward the front door. "He said he found a new use for those poppies yesterday. Hasn't been back since."

Spike slowly exhaled. He shot a quick glance to Scabby, his lips curled, baring his teeth. "_Get him_." He nodded at Crazy Lou. "We're cancelin' da drive-by, Lou. Get everybody we know in here … if they don't come willingly … slice their Achilles' tendon or something … _drag_ 'em here kickin' and screamin', if ya have to."

"Uh, Spike," began Howlin' J, who had a gruffer and deeper voice than Sonny, and looked like a scruffier and paler version of his son. He was rubbing the fingers of his right hand together under the table so no one would see. It was a nervous tick of his.

Spike stared at him. "Nuthin's gonna happen to the band … you worthless piece of tick-infested rugbag," he interrupted with the type of tone he used when he was teasing. He cracked a smile. "I wouldn't eat the bunch o' you if you were the last rotten snack on the supercontinent!"

Mudbelly, the band's darker-blue fat drummer, smirked in turn. His voice was very deep and smooth. "Good to know, you purple spiky pain in the fur." He forced a chuckle. Being mammals in the presence of desperate Lizards was not exactly on their list of good events. The insults, though, were just their way of telling each other how incredibly worried they were … without the humiliating sappiness.

Spike maintained his grin. "Now, if you boys will excuse me … I got a bomb threat to call in." He went through a side door beside the bar.

The band stared at the door for a few moments until they were sure Spike was out of hearing range. Sonny glanced at his father questioningly. Howlin' J shrugged, wiping off some nuts off the table. "He's trying to evacuate his school, Sonny. Spike's too proud to call for help." He sighed. "You know that weak-kneed friend of his goes to that school, too."

"And of course there's all the girls," continued Mudbelly with a slight chuckle. "If all the fem-lizards die off, Spike won't have anyone to slap him!"

Later in the afternoon, Spike was clearing out the empty bottles scattered around the bar. The band was trying to clear the floor. Scabby had found Lingo around two in the afternoon, nervously pacing in the woods, rubbing his arms constantly. Spike glanced over at where Lingo now sat, in a chair at the far corner of the room. Lingo was a tall narrow-nosed purple dinosaur with dark purple stripes on his tail. A white tie was wrapped around his head, the ends drooping past his shoulders. He wore a long-sleeved black leather jacket with round metal studs along the sleeves and rose-colored wire-rimmed glasses. His lips were pale blue … naturally. He continued to scratch, his head bobbing up and down in a state of almost delirium. He couldn't seem to focus on any particular thing.

"Hey! Lingo!" Spike called out loudly enough to make the others cringe. "You okay?"

Lingo nearly threw up. He smiled weakly. "Kickin' it, Brother Spike," he replied in a deep voice.

Spike flashed a grin before frowning. "Don't blow chunks on the floor, Lingo. If you're gonna do dat – I'll eat ya right now."

"Probably don't wanna do that," noted Howlin' J with a wry smile. "There's no tellin' what's been in that kid's gullet." He jumped when he heard breaking glass. Howlin' glanced over at the bar, where Spike had crushed a bottle in his left hand, his face scowling, eyes averted. Ever since he had had to stop Rob from making a mess of himself with thornoids, Spike had become rather touchy when it came to his "family" – whether it was the Sinclairs or the Scavengers – doing things they shouldn't have been doing. Though Spike didn't mind alcohol (which he considered a drink as natural as water or soda), the stuff he considered more dangerous was absolutely forbidden. Howlin' tried to continue cleaning up … though no one else had come back yet. Crazy Lou was long overdue. Rob had called Spike, telling him his family was safe at their house.

Finally, Crazy Lou walked through the front door. Spike asked him who he brought. Lou shook his head. "We aren't exactly a triage unit or an emergency shelter, Brother Spike," he retorted. He shrugged, seeking the bar for a glass. "Search and rescue is not typically our forte."

Just as Lou sat down at the bar, sighing when he realized Spike wasn't going to give him anything, the sound of choppers sprang up. A thick rain of glop was sprayed everywhere, covering the windows with a yellow film. They watched and listened for about half an hour, mesmerized by the sensory experience of food sources die out en masse.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

(60,000,000BC)

A flickering green light could be seen behind the counter of the Tavern's bar. Mudbelly couldn't sleep on the raised stage, what with all the beeping and whispering going on. He groaned to himself, rubbed his eyes, and walked over to the bar. All he could see were the backs of two of the Lizards: Crazy Lou and Scabby. Scabby wore a jean long-sleeved jacket with metal studs on his left shoulder and a bunch of brown fur pelts on his right shoulder. From the back, Mudbelly noted Lou's tail, with a gash underneath the tip, jaw-sized, and a few cracks on some of the tail spikes. Mudbelly was surprised that Spike left them any body parts at all. No wonder they didn't have the courage to eat the band. Anyone daring to stand up to Spike risked dismemberment or worse. They were fortunate Spike felt they were his family, or they wouldn't have survived at all. At any rate, the two Scavengers were sitting cross-legged behind the counter on the floor. Mudbelly glanced up at the clock: one-thirty in the morning. He cleared his throat quietly. The two dinosaurs twitched, turned their heads, and bobbed a head greeting.

Lou spoke first, whispering. "Hey, uh, you wanna come play with us?"

Mudbelly's jaw dropped. "Uh…." Crazy Lou was the most bookish of the pack, so hearing him sound like some eager two-year-old was rather off-putting. However, being locked up in the small jazz hole was making everyone antsy.

Scabby pointed at the glowing screen in front of them. "It's called a video game. Got it from some furry little punk before the yellow rain."

Lou slapped Scabby's shoulder. "He _knows_ that! He's a mammal! They have _all_ the superior entertainment merchandise."

Mudbelly rolled his eyes. "Right," he said quietly, "because _all_ us mammals have the time and the money to waste on something that's even stupider than TV." He glanced at Scabby. "Where's the 'furry little punk'? You two didn't bring anyone in yesterday."

They looked at each other awkwardly. Scabby shrugged. "Hey, man – it was lunchtime," he replied casually. "He was just a little guy … even _you_ guys woulda liked him."

"Yeah," added Lou, "he had a full-bodied, smoked mahogany flavor."

Mudbelly held up his index finger. "One … we're mainly insectivores." He held up another finger. "Two … let's get back to that video game. What are you playin'?"

Lou scooted aside so Mudbelly could see. They had small black controllers with a joystick and a few buttons on each, connected to the monitor by slender cables, which showed … a gardening simulation.

Mudbelly cocked an eyebrow. "Well, _that's_ ironic." The Lizard had destroyed every last leaf on the entire super-continent … and they were playing a _gardening_ simulation.

Scabby chuckled. "Yeah, you wouldn't think a tiny little hyper guy like that would be that into a game about making plants grow."

Mudbelly sighed and shook his head. "Right." He got closer. "So, how do you play?"

* * *

Spike had taken his bandana and re-adjusted it to fit over his snout so he wouldn't breathe the fumes. The residue sort of smelled like rotten eggs and year-old carcasses all at the same time. Branches were falling off regularly. Cracking and smashing could be heard for miles, made much easier to hear since the forest was dying. He had a burlap bag slung over one shoulder, filling it with the bodies of small dinos and mammals who didn't reek of poison but were dead anyway, probably from the smell. It was hitting the ground-dwellers pretty hard. He wanted the bag full by dawn, so his pack wouldn't be tempted to have the band for breakfast.

He wasn't like those love-sick girls at school, swooning over Lizzard Skizzard on DTV. He didn't keep the band around for some crazy fan reasons. No, it was the principle of the thing. Here were a bunch of mammals trying to live off their pain and misery, if not brought on by the Lizard, then by Mother Nature itself. He couldn't describe, even to himself, why he found that fascinating … but he knew they understood. It was why they were such good friends.

He stopped to pick up the remains of a sign, which was covered in dirt. He used the bag to wipe off any residue. A faded "Wesayso" logo appeared on it. He tossed it aside in disgust. If he had anything to say about it … those fools would be decomposing in his stomach right about now.

But he wasn't Scooter. Scooter enjoyed taking up causes and advocating and all that. Spike was just as happy to let things be unless they crossed him. Like when Andre tried to get the Scavengers to kill the Sinclairs, he thought bitterly. Spike hadn't _meant_ the attack to happen, but Andre had become blood-thirsty. It was one thing to involve oneself in a "messy retirement ceremony", but actively killing an entire family was more the speed of Predators … a pack with no compunctions whatsoever about killing anyone within sight.

And as much as he admired Predator determination, Spike felt that overkill was something generally to be avoided if possible.

Not that anyone ever asked _him_.

* * *

It was no surprise to the slender brown-scaled female dinosaur that the large yelling tyrant in the beige trailer hadn't left yet. He was known for spending long hours at "work", doing whatever he did. With the moon barely able to cast a shadow on the trailer, the young dinosaur crept up to the trailer, which was only barely dusted by the poisonous material, dug into her purse, left a small beeping wristwatch, buried it underneath the trailer …

… and walked away without looking back.

* * *

Another brown female dinosaur, with lots of tiny spikes all over her face and head, removed the fur hood she wore as she returned to the large cave where many fur-dressed cavemen sat. Normally they would have been asleep, but they patiently had awaited her return. They had sent her to investigate the smells … those awful smells. She was called Thighs of Thunder, a saurian female adopted by cavemen when she was just a little girl.

Through grunts and gestures, she told them of the Lizard, who continued to destroy the trees. She told them she had climbed part way up Mount Thunder, as the Lizard called it, so she could survey the land. Most of the area was completely ruined. It was a dead sea of ash and snow.

The chieftain, who sported a long black beard and shaggy black hair, nodded and shrugged. He, in the language of the cavemen, informed them that the Lizard would not return to their land anymore. They should take this opportunity to destroy the constructions the Lizard had been working on, as well as saving up as much food as they could handle. They had been slowly working their way back onto the land the Lizard had chased them from, and realized they were once again safe from the reptilian menace.

* * *

Deep in a large cave, the sound of footsteps awoke the pale blue Apatosaurus female as she slept on her side. She awoke, yawning, twisting and arching her long neck to look at her alarm clock. Two o'clock in the morning. She groaned.

"Monica?" a male voice whispered, which resonated more loudly in the cavernous room.

Monica's eyes shot open. She raised her head from her bed, which was just a collection of very large pillows on the cave floor. "Who's there?" she asked grumpily. "I'm warning you … I'm a really big female … I can squash you in no time flat."

A goofy brown tyrannosaur who had a crush on her, smiled despite his pronounced overbite, his tiny hands barely able to come together enough to be wrung nervously. "It's me, Roy."

Monica sighed and lowered her head, rolling her eyes. Roy had been drooling over her for a couple of years, give or take, and at one point they had to … _marry_ … though once the threat regarding her livelihood was over, she quickly put a stop to that. She wanted someone equal to herself in intelligence, but Roy was too simple-minded to take the hint. "I can _see_ that, Roy … what do you want?"

He tugged on his yellow short-sleeved shirt with black palm trees printed on it. He stared at the cave floor. "Monica? I was just wondering … since, you know, the plants are dyin' and everyt'ing … if you were gonna find enough to eat over the next couple of weeks."

Monica groaned. "What are you talking about, Roy?" she asked with great fatigue. "I told you it was a bad idea to eat those leftovers, didn't I?"

Roy shook his large head. "No, you don't _understand_ … this wasn't some nightmare I had. Wesayso wanted to get rid of all those cider poppies that had sprung up all over da place. I thought it was a really good idea … until I started t'inking about _you_."

Monica grunted as she stood up on all four legs, shaking her head somewhat to clear her mind. She glared at him. Her lips curled into a snarl. "_What do you mean Wesayso killed all the plants_?" she roared. Roy flinched, his knees trembling. He knew she was powerful – she had easily killed a large swamp monster, easily forty-feet tall, with just her tail. Now, she was going to turn that anger on _him_. "_How in God's name am I supposed to EAT, Roy_?" She barreled towards him, making him nearly trip from running backwards. "_I suppose Richfield is going to blame us four-leggers for this, too_?"

"He … he … he … didn't mention anyt'ing about it," Roy offered nervously. He was starting to get concerned … the entrance to her cave was still a bit of a ways off … and she could trample him before he got a chance to get out of harm's way. "I promise I'll find a way to convince him to fix dis whole little mess!"

Monica snapped at him, making him fall with a loud thud. She was _so_ close to grinding him into the cave floor … if only she wouldn't have to clean up afterwards. Pushing a vacuum was slightly more complicated without hands, after all. "_FIX IT? I'll tell you the only way to 'fix' it …. I'm leaving this whole crappy country!_" She inhaled deeply. When she roared, she made rocks fall from the cave ceiling. "_GET YOUR WALNUT-BRAINED IDIOTIC FACE OUT OF MY CAVE, ROY! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU, EARL, OR THAT DISGUSTING RICHFIELD EVER AGAIN!_"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

(60,000,000BC)

_A deep male voice could be heard on televisions everywhere. The images showed nothing but snow and ash, all covering every square inch of every home, every school, every outdoor Jacuzzi, every vehicle … and on every carcass._

"_Wesayso would like all Pangaeans to understand that our company has their best interests at heart. Yes, you may be starving and your lower extremities may be developing gangrene from lack of warmth … and you may be hopelessly despondent over the fickleness of life itself…."_

_A crudely-drawn animation of flowers appeared on screen, with bright pulsating colors._

"_Yet, if we all just think of springtime," said the voice as a cheerful piece of classical music played, "we shall be born anew … awash with the sensation of letting out that inner child once more."_

"EARL!" a female voice barked.

The massive Megalosaurus, green with a pale underbelly and brown scales stretching from his brows all the way down to the tip of his tail, jumped, some half-eaten chips spilling off his red and black plaid shirt. He had almost fallen asleep as he sat at his usual place in the kitchen, facing the television set. The Sinclair kitchen was attached to the living room with a large arch. Its walls were mostly made of compressed dirt, arching high into stalactites. The roof was made to look like an active volcano, though a heating element and chimney vent were stored in the kitchen attic space, it was mostly for show. The kitchen sink and an island for food preparation stood opposite the family dining table. At the side entrance to the house was the refrigerator. The kitchen had taken on a musty odor as the Sinclairs had tried to remove the dead plants from the house.

At any rate, Earl looked up at his wife. "Leave me alone, Fran," he muttered in a low voice. "Can't a guy watch TV?"

Fran, a green allosaurus with four crests lined with pink edges, clicked the television off with the remote control. She adjusted her pale pink sweater and brown parka. They didn't want to run the heater as much as most dinosaurs were. After all, they didn't know how long the fuel would last them. She crossed her arms and frowned. "I think we've watched _enough_ television, Earl." She came up closer to him. "Besides, you can't hide from your children all day."

Earl shook his large head, his multiple chins swaying slightly. "I'm not hiding from them, Frannie," he shot back defensively. "If I wanted to hide from my family, I'd go to work!" He sighed, exasperated. A growl escaped in his voice. "But since there are no more trees to push, I guess I'm totally without purpose, aren't I?"

Fran rolled her eyes. "Earl, you're _not_ without purpose." She placed a dainty mittened hand on his shoulder. "You are still a husband and a father."

Earl pulled away, avoiding her eyes. "Yeah, I'm really doin' a bang-up job, aren't I?" he retorted sarcastically. He stood up, his joints creaking from the cold. His … weight … made it unlikely he was going to freeze before the others, but even so … well, he tried not thinking about it … but he couldn't help it. He shot a glance at his wife. "Fran," he began, pointing a chubby hand toward himself, "how could I screw things up so badly? All a male dinosaur has to do to be successful, is to provide for his family, put food on the table, and keep his offspring from getting eaten or sucked into a tar pit before they're married off to someone else." His lip quivered. "Now we're all gonna die … and it's all my fault."

Fran inhaled deeply, trying to stall until she could come up with the right thing to say. If Earl weren't bashing himself ever since Wesayso bombed all the volcanoes on Earth a week ago, her mother, Ethyl, would do it for him, emphasizing her point by whacking him in the ample gut with her cane from her wheelchair. "Earl," she said quietly, "this isn't all your fault."

"It's a little late to try to make me feel better, Fran," Earl retorted sadly, staring at the floor. "I didn't pay enough respect for tradition. I became obsessed with modern conveniences." He sighed, tears welling up in his eyes. "If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't let modernity cloud my judgment."

"We are still responsible for doing the best we can to make it right," Fran replied calmly and motherly. "Besides, _all_ of us 'broke the dam', so to speak. All we can do is try to clean things up as much as possible."

Earl stared at his wife in disbelief. "What exactly do you want me to do, Fran?" he asked cynically. "This isn't exactly going to be helped by shoveling the driveway and putting the recyclables in their proper containers."

Fran stared back with a flat affect. "We're going to do our job as parents, Earl." She paused for what seemed like an eternity. She spoke more softly. "We are going to ensure the survival of our children."

Earl's eyes grew wider, his mouth cracking a slight smile. He poked her in the chest. "You … you have a _plan_, don't you, honey?" he inquired with a bit more enthusiasm. That was why he married her – she knew how to use her head.

_Earl had been a lot skinnier, roughly Robbie's size, when he was in high school. He was teased relentlessly because he, unlike his parents' generation, didn't want to bulk up just to kill his food. He thought that resources should be cheap and easy to obtain. However, he started to exercise more, simply because he wanted to impress a young female named Fran. She also seemed to want more out of the rough-and-tumble world of predator-versus-prey, but she dealt with it much more diplomatically._

_Unfortunately, one afternoon at the gym, he broke his wrist trying to lift some heavy barbells. Fran, who had been playing tennis, heard his screams and rushed over to him, cooing him to stop his screaming._

_Later that week, Earl managed to walk up to Fran cautiously and sheepishly. He had an ungainly cast on his wrist. It itched something terrible, for the thought of talking to Fran on even a casual basis made him sweat profusely. "Um, Fran?" he asked timidly, his voice not as deep as it would be in later years._

_She looked up from taking a sip at the water fountain and smiled, her attention drawn immediately to the cast. "Is your wrist going to be okay?"_

"_Well," he said, shrugging, his voice shaky, "actually it feels like a hundred boulders are slowly crushing red-hot nails into my skeleton."_

_Fran smiled warmly, caressed the cast, maintained a gentle look into his eyes, and kissed his fingers. "Does it feel better now?"_

"_Would you go out with me?" Earl blurted out in shock._

_Fran giggled. "Of course I will, Earl."_

_Earl sighed. "Okay, great!" He paused, deep in thought. A sudden flash of inspiration went off. "Uh, I hope you don't mind me being a little forward … but would you marry me? I don't want to have to go through TWO anxiety attacks in my life."_

_Fran blushed and giggled. Lots of dinosaurs made fun of Earl, but she saw in him a sense of duty, of honor … and a low-enough IQ to keep him honest in a relationship._

_She decided to play with him a little, though, and refrained from answering just to see how much he'd tremble. When it looked like he was about to throw up from all the anxiety, she smiled and consented to be his wife._

Fran bit her lower lip. She tried to hide the shaking in her own voice. "We're sending the children away."

Earl stood motionless. He waved his arms dramatically. "Way to kill all sense of hope in the world, Fran! Geez!" he exclaimed, slumping back down into his chair. "And why, pray tell, aren't we going with them?"

Fran knelt beside her husband. "Earl … Mother can't leave in her condition … and I'm not going without her. Ever since we decided she would live a better life not being hurled from a cliff a couple of years ago, I realized that it was my duty as her daughter to ensure her well-being."

Earl glanced at her skeptically from the corner of his eyes. "Fran … no offense … but how is dying incredibly slowly 'ensuring her well-being'?"

"My mind is made up, Earl," Fran told him with a sure voice.

Earl laughed condescendingly. "Well, exactly at what point did _my_ mind not get made up?"

Fran stood and turned her back to him. "I don't recall you asking our opinion when you let Richfield kill us all." She turned her head towards Earl. "You may leave if you wish … but we promised in our vows we would stay together no matter what." She nodded toward the living room. "Our children have proven to be intelligent and persevering. If anyone can survive the trip to your 'city', it would be them."

Earl cocked a single brow. "My …'city'?"

Fran turned toward him, nodding. "Yes, Earl … remember? You went with Roy to the end of the world and found a pristine land filled with cavemen. The chieftain honored you for helping them get their land back."

"We're forgetting Wesayso bought that land from them, right?"

Fran smiled. "With no fuel and no access and no tourism, Wesayso will never profit from their new property … leaving it still available for anyone who has any chance in surviving this apocalypse."

Earl scratched his head. "Even if that were a great idea … the clouds are just going to destroy that land too."

Fran frowned. "How would they know? Other than telling the world they were going to build a baseball stadium there … we never heard another thing about it! It's far from any volcano. It's quite possible that any lands far from any of the volcanoes might still be safe. Dinosaurs tend to live around volcanoes for warmth. Maybe those cavemen have sufficient habitats in those caves of theirs." She threw her hands up in frustration. "For heaven's sake, Earl! This is the only chance our children have for living through this nightmare! Don't we owe them that?"

_

* * *

A four-foot-tall Spike, his spikes and horns just rounded bumps, trotted past the railroad tracks just after sunset. His mother hadn't returned to their small cave all day and he started to get worried. He wore a simple green hoodie jacket, which had multiple tears and scuffs on it. He stayed close to the trees and shrubs in the forest like his mother had taught him, so he would blend in more with the surroundings. It was dangerous for even a six-year-old to be wandering the woods alone._

_Eventually, after a walk that seemed to take forever, Spike could hear a low moan. A female moan. His heartrate picked up as he tried to run without breaking any branches and giving away his position. As he reached a small clearing, he gasped._

_Propped up against a heavily-scarred tree was his mother, a sauropelta. She was a mottled blue with a slender rounded beak, a graceful tail, and muscular arms and legs. Along her back were rounded bony growths that stretched to the base of her tail. On her shoulders, however, four two-foot-long spikes, as well as another pair of spikes just below them on her shoulder blades that stretched an amazing three-and-a-half feet. Her chest heaved in and out, while her right arm bled in multiple gashes._

_She glanced in the opposite direction of her unseen child. A brown thick-muscled adolescent dinosaur appeared, wearing a black leather jacket with light gray fur on the shoulders and multiple silver chains draped all over. His voice was cracking, but didn't betray a remarkable sense of intelligence, though that could have been from all the booze._

"_Hey, spiky chick ... you feelin' a little --."_

_The weary female snarled at the intruder. "If you finish that sentence, I'll use your spine as a necklace!"_

_The intruder guffawed. "You do dat, sweet t'ing," he told her in a patronizing tone. "I'm here to make sure your ugly carcass doesn't go to waste." He crept closer to the injured female, his mouth salivating at the thought of such a spirited meal._

_Suddenly, he felt a large weight on his back, claws digging into his flesh. "What da heck is goin' on here?" he asked in a stupor, trying to shake off the painful object. He managed to find a tail with his hands and he yanked on it, causing a shriek as he twirled the creature away. It landed with a thump on the ground. No sooner had young Spike landed, however, than he jumped up and lunged at the big brown oaf with a sharpened stick. The larger opponent grabbed at the stick, lifting up the young dinosaur in the air. He kept the child at arm's distance and chuckled. "Hey, you got guts, kid," he announced proudly. He shook his head, pouting. "Yo momma is still gonna get eaten, junior. Them's da breaks, you know?"_

_Spike dug his claws into the larger dinosaur's hands, forcing him to let go with a shriek. Spike wasted no time in lunging close to the ground and biting the soft underbelly. The opponent roared in pain, his belly doubling over. He grabbed Spike by the tail this time. "I'm gonna impale ya on yo own momma, kid!" he yelled angrily. "No one keeps Andre from a meal!" No sooner had he announced this then they were both sent flying as Spike's mother's tail whacked Andre hard in his side._

_Spike, when his head cleared, twitched his tail to break free of Andre's grasp and dashed over to his mother, who stepped in between her child and Andre. She glared at the scavenger. Spike could feel her hand pushing against his side. He looked up and saw her trying to give him something. He took the small object from her hand and put it in his right jacket pocket. His mother quickly glanced at him and smiled. "Keep those fighting skills up, Spike," she cooed despite panting heavily. "And you keep my ring safe. Your father was a no-good low-life who ran out on us … but one day you'll meet a girl. I want her to have it." She kicked him away gently with her leg. "Get out of here. Live off the land like I taught you."_

The sound of breaking glass jerked Spike awake. He could hear the others cheering. He stood up from the back of the room, his joints aching in the cold. The Tavern wasn't exactly well insulated … and there was only so much fur to be pulled from the dead creatures he had brought back every night. Scavenging in the snow was even worse than doing it after the poison rain. Another glass broke.

"Only ninety-five left to go!" Crazy Lou shrieked in delight.

Spike went over to the main room where countless bottles had been fastened somehow to the walls. The rest of the Scavengers, even Lingo, joined the band behind some upturned tables as they would take turns using an improvised slingshot to break a glass. Lingo pumped his fists as Sonny managed to break yet another one. "Dawgs, I'm bettin' some major dead elders that some tunes would go great with this game!"

Howlin' J shook his head, rolling his eyes. "If anyone ever makes money on a song about takin' beer bottles off a wall, I'll gnaw my own paw off."

Spike smiled. At least his "family" could keep their spirits up, despite the cold. He glanced over at his right as he used his right hand to take out a small golden band from his pocket. He quickly put it back. Spike almost never took out his right hand unless he absolutely needed to. It was too important to him to keep anything from happening to his mother's wedding ring. Fortunately for him, he had learned to excel in fighting with just one arm. It also helped to have sharp teeth and a thick tail with wicked spikes coming out of it.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

(Summer, 2011AD)

_Sixty million years ago, three dinosaur children_

_Found themselves searching for utopia._

_Just yesterday, a home video camera_

_Was found deep in a pit._

_To create a media circus and propel_

_Us to fame and fortune,_

_We will now publish this video_

_Without any thought for accuracy_

_And verification…._

[A thin balding man with brown hair, wearing a khaki safari outfit, stands near a sign deep in the woods that says "This way: Montana. The Other Way: Canada, eh?" He smiles at the camera.]

Man: (with British accent) Welcome to this edition of _Digging Our Past_. I'm Sir David Tushingham, callously shilling this video to the Thick Yellow Rectangle Society, a respectful society of tinkerers and naturalists devoted to airing any little ol' thing on their network. I was out camping yesterday and came across a remarkable find. Naturally, something this vital should not wait for tedious 'peer reviews' and 'investigations'. [Tushingham steps away from the sign. Camera follows him to a nearby small campsite with two yellow tents, a campfire pit in the middle of the site, and a table where an elderly Caucasian man with thin gray hair is tinkering with a beat-up-looking home video camera, connecting it to a small television set.] Let us now discover remarkable secrets of our past, with the help of my skillful colleague, Mr. Christian. (taps Mr. Christian on the shoulder) Are we ready, Mr. Christian?

[Mr. Christian, wearing a bright orange jacket and dark clothing, finishes tinkering around with the internal workings of the camera and presses the 'power' button. He doesn't even look up.]

Mr. Christian: (proudly in an American accent, though somewhat fatigued) I think it's about ready, Sir Tushingham. (nods) Yes, I think it should work now.

[The monitor shows an uneven blurring, as though the camera is being handled roughly. After a few moments, the image of a five-foot-tall (or so) green ceratopsian bipedal dinosaur crunches through a mixture of snow and ash up to its calves, wearing a dark blue parka, thick woolen yellow mittens, and a knitted tail-warmer with boldly colored designs. It is barely holding a heavily wrapped smaller pink dinosaur with a turtle-like beak, pink skin, and dark purple spots along its tail. The camera's image bounces slightly with the steps of the unseen videographer.]

Green dinosaur: (irritatingly, young female voice) Ugh, you know, kid, there's no reason you can't walk.

Little pink dinosaur: (insanely high-pitched voice, cheerful) I'm the baby … gotta carry me! (Green dinosaur drops baby with a _fwoosh_ in the snow) (sharply) Hey! (pauses) Charlene! Gotta carry me!

Charlene: You're four years old –

Unseen videographer: (scratchy teen male voice) – _five_ years old, remember, sis?

Charlene: (sighs exasperatedly) Right! So Baby's _five_ years old … which means the little whiner can walk on his own. (turns around, glaring at the unseen videographer, shaking a mittened finger at Baby, who is staring at her like he's about to wail) Unless _you_ want to carry him for about six hours, Robbie, _you_ need to keep your sorry little tail out of this!

[Video cuts to a shot looking down at three young dinosaurs from what seems to be a large carcass. Charlene and Baby are busy snacking on stringy meat beside a campfire, while a tall lanky green male dinosaur with a Mohawk made of pale green flexible spikes and wearing a bright red ski jacket and dark blue leg warmers, uses a small machete to hack into the unseen belly of the fallen beast.]

Charlene: (smacking her lips) You don't honestly expect us to _sleep_ in that old rotting swamp monster, do you, Rob?

Baby: I wanna sleep in the rib cage!

Charlene: (glaring at Baby) You would.

Robbie: (stands straight, wiping sweat off his brow) You want to freeze to death when the winds start up tonight? (the others shake their heads) Well, (points at carcass) then we're sleeping inside _him_. Besides, it'll also mask our scent.

Charlene: (shrugs, crossing her arms in indignation) (mockingly) Ooh, yeah … and it also serves to make us seem like stuffing inside a holiday roast!

Baby: (wiping his hands on his jacket, eyes wide) Is it Refrigerator Day again? I want presents!

Robbie: (turns to face Baby, voice low-key) The _present_ will be surviving until we get to our destination.

Baby: (long pause, flat affect) That's cheap…. (short pause, holding hand out) Fifty-dollar minimum! I'm the baby … gotta pay me!

[Tushingham and Christian, hunched over in front of the television, glance at each other in disbelief.]

Mr. Christian: (to Tushingham) Is this what I think this is?

Sir Tushingham: (eyes wide, breathless) It's … it's –

Mr. Christian: (turning his back, irritated) – it's a pirated children's show. We interrupted our wolf study for a bunch of people dressed up as dinosaurs!

Sir Tushingham: (astounded, incredulous) How can you say such a vile thing, Jerome? This is a primary source of information regarding the fate of fascinating creatures! I've waited my entire _career_ for something this juicy!

Mr. Christian: (skeptically, staring at Tushingham) Dinosaurs with video cameras? Come on, David. (points at screen) The little pink one is a thinly veiled parody of Godzilla's son, Minya … it's not even a real species!

Sir Tushingham: Were you _there_?

[The video cuts to a barely lit interior, with ribs visible arching over the three young huddling dinosaurs. The sound of wind rushing past the abdominal opening pervades the audio track.]

Charlene: D- do you think we'll really be safe in here?

Robbie: (nods) Don't be such a wuss, sis. Of _course_, we're safe.

[Unintelligible whispers punctuate the wail of wind, making the three shudder even more. Barely detectable lights appear and disappear in the distance.]

Charlene: (elbows Robbie, whispers) Robbie? I … I don't think we're alone anymore.

Baby: (shudders) D- do you think they eat … babies?

Charlene: (cocking an eyebrow, dryly) You're a toddler, not a baby. "Baby" is just your name, you know. Stop being so emotionally manipulative.

Baby: (glaring at Charlene) It's worked _so far_!

[Footsteps crunching through the snow can be heard. The siblings look in multiple directions, as though they are surrounded.]

Robbie: (whispers, trying to sound confident) It sounds like there's about ten of them. I think we're all going to die.

Charlene: (sighs, sarcastic) Way to be the alpha male, Rob.

Robbie: (glances irritatingly at Charlene) I don't see _you _going out there, guns blazing, you know.

[Sir David Tushingham and Jerome Christian are flinging camping supplies at each other.]

Christian: You 1-900 hack! (ducks as a can of beans flies just over his head)

Tushingham: (dodges a notebook) You are so _incredibly_ ungrateful! I didn't _have_ to (gets hit by a microphone) hire you, you know!

Christian: (points angrily at television) I didn't need your correspondence course to appreciate the scientific method, David! I've been in archaeology since before you waddled out of your crib!

Tushingham: (scoffing) Ha! Some scientist! You talk so much about magical rodents … you should wheel yourself into a center for the senile!

Christian: Oh yeah?

Tushingham: _Yeah_!

[An angular head at the end of a thick neck peers into the carcass opening. Just as the silhouetted head is about to turn toward Robbie and Charlene, who cower deeper within the cavity, the head rears back, bellowing in pain, smacking the ceiling of the beast.]

Unseen deep male voice: Wait, _wait_, kid! We're on _your_ side!

[The head jerks back out of the opening. Moments later, Baby is flung into the back "wall" of the carcass.]

Baby: (shakes head, eyes lighting up in joy) Again!

[A lit cigarette lighter, held by a blue-purple hand clad in a black leather jacket, appears through the opening. The owner of the angular head reappears as well.]

Robbie and Charlene: Spike!


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

(60,000,000BC)

The Sinclair siblings, as well as the Scavengers and the Howlin' J band, slept huddled inside the large chest of the swamp monster, a creature which in life had been well over sixty-feet high. Days and nights were difficult to differentiate, thanks to cloud cover that was miles thick. The only real difference seemed to be one could at least_ discern_ objects in the "daytime". The winds had died down as well, another sign day had arrived. Last night had been the first night the Scavengers and the Howlin' J band had felt somewhat comfortable, as they had been traveling some time after the Tavern fell into the swamp from the weight of the ash and snow. Although most of the swamp monster had been consumed by various carnivores and scavengers, the chest and abdominal cavities were still thick enough to provide decent shelter from the freezing gales of night.

Screaming and cursing awoke everyone from their slumber. Spike was just outside the opening, kicking away the snow, hurling insults at a rate of ten or so per minute. As he cleared a ten-foot area, he started digging around in the dirt frantically with both hands.

Robbie stuck his head out of the carcass, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?" Spike didn't answer. Now, everyone was peering out, staring intently as Spike swore with increasing fervor and tenacity.

Baby Sinclair watched with wide eyes. He chirped, "Can I help?" The saurian child left the protection of the cave and began to dig as well.

Spike used his tail to fling Baby out of his way. "Leave me alone, squirt," he hissed.

Spike felt two hands grab the back of his jacket. "Hey!" Robbie yelled from behind. "You don't touch my baby brother!"

Spike whipped around and grabbed Robbie by the neck, his arm trembling slightly. "What did I tell you about touchin' my _jacket_, Scooter?"

Robbie tried to gulp. Not even when Robbie had been under the influence of thornoids did Spike threaten him so vividly. Still, he could feel something … off … about Spike. His friend was … _nervous_. Maybe, Spike was even _afraid_. At any rate, Spike was out of control. Robbie glared at his friend, trying to sound more in control than he felt. "We can't help you find it if you kill us all," he growled, guessing that Spike had lost some item of importance.

Spike loosened his grip, but maintained his hold. He was the Scourge of the Swamp. Even though this was his best friend, he still had a reputation to keep. If he just let go, it could destroy years of fear and respect built into his image. He was impressed, though. He could feel Rob's increased pulse through the skin of the over-achiever's neck. Yet, Scooter stared him down … er … up (though Rob was only about two inches shorter). Scooter had seen the way Spike had defeated the Scavengers to become leader of the pack and he also knew Spike could take him even when pumped up on muscle-building thornoids. Rob knew for a fact that Spike _deserved_ his position on the food chain. Yet, here he was … standing up to someone he could never take down, even if his life depended on it. Spike continued to stare at his friend, avoiding looking at the rest of the gang. Their opinions didn't matter much, anyway. It took Spike several minutes to reply. His voice was low and even. "They _took_ it, Scooter," he growled, letting go of Robbie's throat, sighing. He whispered with a barely perceptible tinge of begging, "My muddah's weddin' ring. Thievin' little appetizers _stole_ it."

Robbie cleared his throat, backing away a step. He glanced at Spike in confusion and surprise, the flexible spines on his head spreading out a bit along the midline of his scaly scalp. "That's what you keep in your pocket?" He could feel the others staring at them from behind. He coughed, trying to sound tougher than he felt. "Look, Spike … just tell us what they look like … and we'll mash 'em into the dirt." He paused, a triumphant and knowing grin flashing across his face. "No one steals from the Scavengers and gets away with it!" The Scavengers cheered behind him.

Spike flashed a brief smirk. "All right, everyone … listen!" he shouted. "We're lookin' for some little brown t'ings wit' big eyes and fat bellies. Can't be more than a hand high. I want 'em caught and searched. You see anyt'ing they weren't born with … you _take_ it, capiche?" He paused, grinning. "An' if you think you need a snack before we move out," he noted, continuing with a sudden dark tone, "_eat_ 'em."

The whole group started to search high and low for the tiny mammalian thieves. However, aside from from some tiny footprints here and there, they could find little evidence.

Crazy Lou spoke up, visibly frustrated, his hands grabbing his hips roughly. "I think they're tunneling underneath the snow to avoid detection," he announced to no one in particular.

Scabby's face brightened. "Hey, guys! I got a great idea!" He quickly motioned for everyone to come near. When they all formed a tightly packed group around him, he continued excitedly, "If they're under the snow, we could jump up and down and stomp 'em 'til they're flat! That way, all we gotta do is pick up little flat pieces of meat!" Everyone cheered and began to jump up and down vigorously … for about five jumps, until the ground caved underneath them. They all screamed as they fell deep into the earth below among dead branches and glass and ash and snow.

Everyone gasped after a few minutes as they tried to recover from getting the wind knocked out of them. Spike was on top of the squirming heap of dinosaurs and blue mammals. He got up, groaning and rubbing his backside. He stepped back to allow the others to get up.

"Unh … again?" Baby muttered weakly, his arms bruised from being close to the bottom of the heap. Charlene, grunting, picked him up and asked him if he was okay. He could barely nod. He rubbed the back of his head with his chubby little arms.

Robbie snapped his fingers and checked his tote bag. He dug out his video camera that his parents had given him last Refrigerator Day. It had some dents in its casing and a chip in the lens. Otherwise, it appeared to be okay. He placed it back inside and zipped the bag shut.

They glanced all around. The cave was plastered in pale, tan stucco, with a few geometric frescos along the walls near the floor. A couple of strange potted plants stood near a small arch about four feet high. Still, they were all able to stand comfortably. They glanced up to see a shattered skylight.

"Hey! What does it take to get some peace and quiet around here, huh?" barked a gruff elderly male voice. The group turned toward the small arch, in which stood a hunched over reptilian with brown scales, droopy pointed ears, a gnarled tail, bumpy large jowls that hung a couple of inches beneath his small lower jaw, and the top of his head filled with a multitude of squared off peg-like bony structures. Charlene thought they looked like a massage brush.

Baby gasped. "Hey! You're the monster under the bed!" He paused, switching to a more casual voice. "How ya doin'?"

The "monster" adjusted his dark magenta robe, shaking his head. "You dinosaurs are somethin' else, you know that? I finally get my new sun room remodeled … and you go and destroy it!" He sighed, pointing at the broken skylight. "It's bad enough you freaks brought about eternal winter! Now you're gonna let all that snow in? You think it's easy to vacuum in here?"

Charlene, carrying Baby with one arm, pointed at the monster with the other. "What are you doing _here_? Don't you live near our house?"

The monster shook his head and shrugged. "I had to leave a couple of months ago. The whole area was getting infested with some type of weird worm. You think _I'm_ grumpy … this thing was _huge_ … with red and gold scales, pale spines around its head, and a sharp poisonous barb on its tail. All the subterranean creatures are talking about it. It's a massive swarm, burrowing until they come to a natural cave and setting up housekeeping … eating anyone who comes within sight of their nest!"

Lingo glanced at Spike. "So, Brother Spike … we G Down just to book for some crawlies?"

Everyone gawked at Lingo in silence.

Crazy Lou cleared his throat, nodding. "What my esteemed colleague is asking is if we got all dressed up only to be sent running away like screaming little girls by nothing but worms."

"Oh," everyone said at once, nodding.

"Well," offered the monster, "it seems to prefer the east side of the Great Swamp. You guys are just to the west of it, on the side taken by the four-leggers."

Spike closed in on the monster and, picking him up, started to shake him. "You see a bunch of little brown t'ings come t'rough here with shiny items dat don't belong to 'em?" he hissed angrily.

Robbie panicked. "Uh, Spike? Don't go roughing up that guy … he's stronger than he looks!" A few months ago, all the Sinclair siblings had been captured and nearly eaten by this creature. Robbie had learned to respect beings with low centers of gravity ever since.

Spike scoffed. "I ain't afraid of a movin' footstool, Scooter." He pinned the creature to the wall. "I want my things back!"

The monster nodded, trembling. He was one of the strongest subterranean creatures (that he knew of), but one look into this bluish-purple dinosaur's eyes told him that he was definitely outclassed this time. "Those little brown mammals with the big eyes and the obsession with theft? Yeah, I've seen 'em. Little monsters took my adult magazines for nest material a while back." He grunted as Spike dropped him. He patted down his robe and stared at his intruders. "I'll be happy to point you in their direction. However, not all the tunnels that lead to them can fit you hulking pieces of scaly meat." He nodded toward the Howlin' J band. "Your mammal companions might have to do the majority of the leg work." He jabbed at Spike's knee with a sharp-clawed finger. "You see 'em … you get me back my magazines, deal?" He grumbled. "The cable out here is spotty at best. I don't even think the four-leggers have even _heard_ of premium channels!" He pointed to a large arch on the other side of the sun room. "You can go through there. Go straight ahead, turning to the right at every three intersections, beginning with the second one you come to. You should catch up to them in about a day or so. It's a lot warmer in these tunnels, so you won't need all those silly clothes." He grinned, staring at Charlene's tail. "Feel free to remove the extra layers _here_, if ya want."

Charlene glared at him, baring her teeth. "No thanks."

Howlin' J put up one finger as they all prepared to leave. "Just one question," he asked calmly. "If you know where they are, why don't you get your magazines yourself?"

The monster shuddered, rubbing his ears. "I can't stand the noise … all that incessant _ringing_," he griped sourly, his eyes shut as if to avoid picturing something bad in his mind.

Crazy Lou clasped his hands together excitedly, his voice absolutely giddy. "This is _fantastic_! It's like an RPG quest … and _we're_ the heroes!"

Spike sighed, coming over to his small companion and slapping him upside his head. "Grow up, Lou."


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: I don't own the song. It's a re-written song to the tune of the Moanin' Lisa Blues, from the Simpsons, which is Matt Groenig (sp?)'s baby.**

Chapter 26

(60,000,000BC)

Sonny, the youngest member of Howlin' J's mammal band, walked alongside Baby, who had decided to crawl along the tunnel floor because Charlene kept sighing, irritatingly moving him from one hip to the other almost every five minutes. Baby had not had much experience with walking: his mother, Fran Sinclair, had almost always carried him or rolled him around in a stroller. It had been for his own protection, she had said. Now, though there were other dinosaurs smaller than him who could walk, he could not.

He was only able to keep up because the tunnels were getting smaller, forcing the group to slow down and gradually travel in single file. Soon, only Baby and the band would be able to fit comfortably.

About ten hours after they had left the monster's abode, walking in near-darkness and getting scuffed up from the jutting rocks, it was finally time to split up. They could hear the faint pitter-patter of hundreds of feet, as well as unintelligible chittering.

Robbie knelt down and handed Mudbelly his video camera.

Mudbelly looked at the camera, then back at Robbie. "Uh … you want me to _tape_ this?" he asked in a deep, quizzical voice.

Robbie nodded. "I want to have a record of our trip … for posterity."

Mudbelly shook his head. "Uh, Rob, you do know you don't have schoolwork anymore, right? I mean, ain't no Lizard ever gonna see this."

Robbie stared at him with a blank expression. "Humor me?" he asked in a pleading tone.

Baby sat down and waved his arms in front of the camera, even though it wasn't turned on. He announced cheerfully, "Keep it rollin'! Give me my close up! This pan's pretty good! I'm a _star_!"

Mudbelly shrugged and sighed. He shook his head as he turned toward the tunnel leading to the sounds. "Lotta good this is gonna do in the dark. Ain't even got night vision," he muttered to himself.

Baby followed the band in, ignoring Charlene's repeated pleas and attempts to catch him by the tail. Some yards down the tunnel, Baby groaned and started to sing an improvised blues tune, accompanied by Sonny's harmonica:

_Charlene cannot stop griping!_

_She just won't go away,_

_I guess I'll keep on swiping_

_Her secret stash of fish fillets._

_I just can't win with,_

_With Charlene, and Robbie too –_

_I'm just the baby,_

_The baby, who gets to sing some blues…._

Sonny nodded and continued with a verse of his own:

_My Momma always told me,_

"_Hey, Sonny, hit the dirt!_

_Lizard's got you cornered,_

_You need to stay on the alert!"_

_But then our band got famous,_

_Got famous, in all the land –_

_Oh yeah!_

_Now we sing this song –_

Howlin' J reached around and clamped his son's snout shut and finished the verse curtly:

_Hey, shut up! This song got out of hand_!

Sonny pushed his father's hand away as Baby and Mudbelly snickered in amusement. "Aw, Pops … we ain't been singing for a couple weeks now! Don't you just … get in the _mood_?"

"Not down here, I don't!" Howlin' J snapped angrily. "This is not the time nor the place to lay down some tunes! We gotta keep quiet and sneak up on Spike's thieves! Now close that trap before I close it for ya!"

"Aw, smoo," Sonny grumbled. His head jerked back from the force of his father's mighty slap. Sonny rubbed his cheek bitterly.

"I didn't raise you to spout off that language, boy," his father barked. "Now, hush up!"

Baby and the band silently continued down the winding tunnel, realizing they were hearing a strange ringing noise, growing louder every few feet. They slowed down, noting that the tunnel was filled with a peculiar white glow that throbbed with each ring. Just ahead, several tiny brown mammals with bare fat bellies, large yellow eyes, and a shaggy coat of brown fur on their backs, dashed in and out of a four-foot-tall hole. Only after watching intently for several moments did they realize that the creatures were appearing in between rings. As soon as the unseen object rang, the tiny creatures would dash back into the hole.

"Cookie creatures!" Baby squealed, pointing at the small mammals. Baby remembered them from that time the grown-ups went to "war" over pistachios. Baby had discovered one living in a small hole in the kitchen wall. After several attempts to destroy it, Baby finally discovered that it had merely been feeding the cookies to its young, and so Baby gave the creature his blessing.

The tiny brown creatures gasped, snapping their heads toward the intruders. They squeaked in alarm and ran into small crevices on the other side of the tunnel. Baby and the band soon heard another toll, followed by a scattering sound of tiny hard feet. About twenty foot-long red and gold centipede-like creatures with bulbous barbs on their tails skittered out of the hole, flicking their tails up and down, making a wheezing sound followed by a clang against the rocky ground.

"Whee-_bang_! Whee-_bang_!" went the little arthropods.

Mudbelly cocked an eyebrow as he aimed Robbie's camera at the creatures. "That's _it_?" he wondered aloud, unimpressed. "I've eaten _beetles_ bigger than that."

Howlin' J shrugged. "Well, I'm game. Let's wrap this up … I ain't eaten in five days."

As the centipede-like creatures rushed towards them, the band members each took about five and chomped on them noisily, spraying yellow juice everywhere, making Baby cringe and gag. After they had finished eating, they walked over to the hole, hoping to find Spike's ring. Baby followed the band into the hole, which led to a large cave, in the middle of which was a large bowl-like object. A golf ball-sized object dropped from the cave ceiling, ringing the rim of the bowl, cracking it and hatching a foot-long centipede-like creature. It squirmed on the cave floor … before being greedily consumed by Sonny, who smacked his lips audibly in deep satisfaction, rubbing his stomach dreamily.

Mudbelly arched his back, staring at the cave ceiling, his jaw agape. The others followed his gaze and spotted a large tail with a scorpion-like barb at the end sticking out of a crack in a large rock held in place with a tangled web of vines. Another round object appeared just below the barb, dropping what was now obviously an egg. Baby caught it before it hit the bowl and swallowed it whole.

"Yum!" he noted happily. "Eggs better than yucky worms with feet!"

Mudbelly was still spell-bound. "Uh … considering the size of that tail …."

"I bet that 'whee-ba' thingy is like fifty-feet long!" Sonny squealed, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "That's the most _amazing_ bug I've ever _seen_!"

Howlin' J grunted. "Yeah … and take a look at those vines." He pointed the others in the right direction, a few feet from the barb. A glint of gold could be seen among the vines. "I'm willin' to bet the fleas on my back that _that's_ the ring Spike wanted us to find!"

"I'll get it!" Baby shouted eagerly, crawling up onto the rim of the bowl, twitching his tail for balance.

"No!" squeaked a tiny voice from behind.

They looked around and noticed a small brown creature standing in front of a small crack in the wall of the cave, waving its arms wildly. "Ring stay!" it continued. "Cave crash!"

"That would be inconvenient," Mudbelly deadpanned.

"Make tunnels," the creature noted. "Make light." It pointed at the vines. "Tie break. Bring ring. Vines stay."

Howlin' J stepped up to the creature and spoke condescendingly. "Ring stolen. Lizard ticked. Poor worm."

"Got it!" Baby cheerfully announced, hopping down from the metallic bowl. Small stones started to fall into the bowl, making it ring incessantly, causing some unseen force to make a strobe-light effect with each clang.

The humongous centipede-like creature roared now that it was able to move, thrashing its body, causing ever-increasing boulders to crash from the cave ceiling.

"Rock and roll!" Baby laughed, tugging on the band members as he started to crawl quickly out of the hole back into the tunnel.

The group scrambled out into the tunnels as fast as they could, tiny squeals and shrieks punctuating the sounds of large boulders crashing and the tremendous ringing of the metallic bowl. They started to pant as the cave-in began, moving as fast as their little limbs would take them. No matter how fast they ran, the roar of falling boulders closed in on them from behind. Baby's knees were starting to bleed from the frantic crawling. Out of desperation, Baby reared up, bracing one hand against the tunnel walls, and quickly mastered running. Now that Baby was no longer the slowest part of the group, they could all dash away much faster, finally reaching the cave with the Scavengers and the Sinclair siblings, just as a rush of smoke plumed out of the tunnel behind them.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

(Summer, 2011AD)

Sir David Tushingham sulked, hunched over on the ground out of sight of the campsite. The sun had started to go down, the warm red glow giving the forest a surreal quality. Specks of dust caught the glints of light, swirling haphazardly in the air. A light tap on the shoulder jarred him out of his moroseness.

"David?" asked a low-key elderly male voice.

Sir Tushingham sighed. "Jerome, I don't know if you know this – but I haven't succeeded as well in paleontology as I would have liked. I didn't even get to consult for those dinosaur movies everyone saw awhile back." He paused. A cool breeze rippled through his shirt. "I mean, how scholarly is it to say, 'Hey, Mr. Director, slap some scales on its tail and make it eat something'?"

"David –."

The younger man shook his head. "I'm fast approaching seventy-four years of age. What have I done with my life?" His voice started to waiver. "I left my homeland to live in the States, to satisfy my natural curiosity about global history, to become rich and famous, to retire gracefully with a pleasant woman answering my every beck and call --."

Jerome sat down, grunting as he did so, by his co-worker's side. He silently placed an arm around his friend's shoulder. He smiled, as though he were going to make a joke, but he thought better of it and stared off into space. He sighed. "I didn't want to be tied down. When I was a boy, I left my family and struck out on my own: shining shoes, selling papers, selling re-furbished junk … my dream was to be the first in my family to have a college education."

David nodded. "Archeology and paleontology are basically metaphors for our lives: our dreams of discovering something almost magical were nearly crushed under the weight of dusting off gravel with toothbrushes for days on end with little pay. It seemed that no matter how hard we tried, no matter how many hours we toiled, we just barely scraped by."

* * *

(60,000,000BC)

Charlene, with her emerald skin with blue stripes on her head frill, sat on the large sofa in the Monster-Under-the-Bed's underground sunroom, a shaft of pale light illuminating her from the broken skylight as she wore a thin pink and blue blouse. She stared at her brother's video camera and sighed. She spoke to the lens, her voice young but sullen. "Mom gave me her favorite sweater," she began, twirling the edge of her blouse in her fingers. She told me I'd be able to fit into it in a few years, as I got taller." She paused. "She said it was our job to protect our baby brother." Charlene sighed with disgust, shaking her head. "I don't know what Rob wants me to say. 'It's a format concept', he said. I don't know why he's got this sudden obsession with filmmaking. Boys." She stood up, turned off the camera as it stood on a small tripod, and left for the monster's kitchen.

A few minutes later, Lingo clicked on the camera and plopped down on the sofa, one leg hanging on the back, his tail slowly twitching at the end. He took off his small sunglasses and sighed. "Finding an identity was always rather difficult for me," he noted dreamily with a tinge of sadness. "Until Andre found me, I was just a random student in school, getting average grades, lusting after females while getting ignored by them. He told me I had been learning the wrong things in school. He said, 'Luke, you gotta pay attention to the important things in life, like the food chain. Scavengers are always treated like the back end of a brontosaurus, but they have the freedom to eat whenever and whatever they want. If all the world went down in flames, the scavengers of the world would have the last laugh.' I didn't realize until quite recently how astute my former leader really was, in his own monosyllabic way. He inspired me in a fashion I had never considered before. I made it my dream to study up on how to be the best banger in the world. I learned all the sacred vocabulary. I discovered the harmony of leather and metal." He sat up, staring at the floor. "I guess what I'm tryin' to say is, whoever finds this last hurrah of the dinosaurs should realize that, no matter how popular you are or how rich you are … it's the lowest of the low who'll have your flesh in their teeth the next morning."

* * *

(Summer, 2011AD)

The two elderly men sat staring at the trees as the sun lowered in the sky behind them. Jerome heard a wolf call to its pack. His lip started to tremble. He lowered his gaze. "Have … have you ever had a dog, David?" he asked wistfully.

David shrugged. "To be rather honest, I was more of the lizard fanatic in my youth. They could always be found in the strangest of places."

Jerome chuckled briefly, a small grin flashing across his face as he remembered something in the deep past. "Well, so can dogs, you know." He glanced up at the sky. "Mine discovered much more than I ever did about this world. It was so strange, to have a dog that was more in tune with the true nature of the universe than someone who had been studying it for decades."

* * *

(60,000,000BC)

Sonny teetered on Baby's shoulders as he tried to ensure the camera had power. "Steady," Sonny cautioned the two-foot-tall pink saurian toddler.

Baby spat out some light blue fur from Sonny's foot, matted from walking in the dirt. "Get a move on!" he barked sharply in his high-pitched voice as he held onto the tripod to steady himself in a standing position.

"All right, all right!" Sonny shouted, frustrated. They ran over to the sofa and hopped on, sitting side by side, with Sonny only slightly smaller than Baby when they were both sitting down. Sonny adjusted his ragged white T-shirt, while Baby stared at him in his yellow short-sleeved shirt and large white pull-up diaper. Sonny spoke up first. "Okay, uh, my name's Sonny, and I'm in a swamp band, known all over Pangaea for being the hottest mammal singer around."

"Stop shilling!" Baby barked. "We're making a documentary … not a commercial!"

Sonny tossed his head back and rolled his eyes. "Well, _excuuuuse_ me for tryin' to spread the word! What was gonna be _your _fascinating and profound message for the future generations?"

Baby stared at the lens. "I'm the baby … gotta love me!" he announced cheerfully.

Sonny sighed and turned away from his friend. "Yeah … _that_ brought tears to my eyes."

Baby grunted his disapproval. "'_The hottest mammal singer around_?'"

Sonny crossed his arms, refusing to look back. "I am," he retorted confidently, almost smugly.

Baby shook his head briefly and held his small snout. "You stink!"

Sonny whipped his head around and snarled. "You're bald!"

"Your fur is matted!"

"Your diaper needs changing!"

"Ain't got no Momma," Baby shouted, then paused, his head drooping, his voice quieting, "no more." He sniffled, rubbing his eyes.

Sonny sighed and patted Baby on the back. His voice was more subdued. "I know, kid. I know."

"Not even Not the Momma," Baby continued sadly, blowing his nose on his yellow shirt.

"I'm sure you'll see them again some day," Sonny offered after a few moments.

Baby glared at his mammalian friend. "Don't patronize me!"

* * *

(Summer, 2011AD)

Jerome glanced over at his friend warmly as the sun finally started to disappear. "I'll help you, David. A man needs to feel he accomplished something, something that can't be taken away like our friends and our families. It's in our DNA. We need to leave our footprint in the sand just to feel solid."

David nodded and half-smiled. "Thank you, Jerome," he replied, his voice cheering up slowly. "Let's promise not to let our ambitions and our preconceptions color our discovery. Let's just focus on finding out the truth."

* * *

(60,000,000BC)

"Trust me … you'll feel better," Robbie told Spike, who stood to the side of the sofa. Spike didn't like sitting down on soft cushions, since his back spikes got snarled in them so easily.

Spike shook his head. "I told ya 'no', Scooter." He turned and left the room.

Robbie came out from behind the camera and sat down, shaking his head and shrugging. He clasped his hand together as he wore his typical black and white T-shirt with the red Rampaging Trilobite varsity jacket. He stared at the floor, his head spines drooping. "Dad and I never seemed to get along. He was so bent on stifling everything I could come up with. It didn't matter what my dreams were. I mean, I can see chastising me for wanting to be a Teen Ninja Caveman when I was ten, but saving the environment?" He paused for several minutes, gulping visibly. "But then when Aunt Pearl showed up, I realized what got my old man's plaid shirt in a wad. She had left her family to pursue dreams of glory, leaving Dad behind to take care of his mother. She ended up becoming a breakthrough artist, inventing a genre called 'country'. She single-handedly transformed the music industry. He couldn't stand the idea of his children following in her footsteps. For him, making children ensured they'd owe you the rest of their lives."

He shuffled his feet on the floor, running one hand absent-mindedly across his scalp. "When Mom and Dad told us we had to leave forever, Dad took me to the garage. He," he choked, "told me … that he realized our troubles were just beginning. He said he had worked hard to make ends meet, and naturally assumed that we had been spoiled by civilization, having no cares in the world and no sense of duty and responsibility." He sighed. "Then, he told me that maybe the way we were would help us make a new society. Maybe, we'd make one _better_ than the one that ended so badly. He told me he was proud of my grades and my sense of responsibility. He told me … he … told me," he continued, his eyes watering, "that I was going to be everything he could have been had things been different." He glanced up at the camera, unblinking. "Dad, if you and Mom survive this at all and find this camera … I just want you to know …."

The red light went off. The battery was dead.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

(60,000,000BC)

The refugees had spent nearly a week in the underground lair of the Monster-Under-the-Bed, welcoming the relief from the frigid air. The Scavengers and the Sinclair siblings had been busy helping themselves to various subterranean mammals who might supply them for a good week or so in terms of food and protection from the bitter gales at night, while the Howlin' J band helped themselves to the large insect population. According to the Monster, they were just northwest of the Great Swamp, while Charlene told the group that the western coast of Pangaea was about two weeks from that position, a fact she knew from her march in search of a distant flower that would have helped change her pheromone scent.

However, Spike had wanted to get a move on. He didn't like the rock and dirt walls closing in on him. In fact, it had made him irritable the whole stay. Then, of course, Scooter had come up with this "confessional" thing he wanted to do on his video camera, where everyone sat in front of a lens and poured out their innermost thoughts.

One day, Spike told himself, he'd let Scooter in on _everything_. One day. For now, though, he wanted to scout out the surface terrain, made much more relaxing due to the fact that it was just a flat wasteland covered in snow and ash. He headed opposite of the tiny pale sun barely visible in the clouds, chewing on a meatless bone he had yanked out of the leg of some poor amphibian who couldn't hop nearly as well as he could scream.

After walking a few hours that morning, he spotted a set of tire tracks. Following them, he came across a large vehicle, its tires half visible over the snowdrift. He could hear a screeching scream from a female voice. Several large and small dinosaurs were pouring out of the back of the vehicle, running toward the front where he could only hear the sounds of a scuffle.

* * *

"Get your stinking hands off me!" a female dinosaur shrieked angrily, shoving away her attackers. She was brown-scaled, about five-five, had a rounded turtle-like snout with a scalp that looked as though it had been cut into inch squares, and swung a thick tail accented with a line of small rounded bony protuberances down the midline, bashing a small stegosaurid against the grill of the vehicle.

Many dinosaurs in Pangaea were only about two or three feet tall. Right now the female was surrounded by a horde of them, from stegosaurids to parasaurolophi to velociraptors. Okay, maybe "horde" was a strong word … let's say, "ten". Two velociraptors leapt up and landed on the girl's torso, which was clothed in a thick wool blue sweater and fur parka. She grabbed them and slammed them together in front of her chest, knocking them senseless.

Several larger dinosaurs, ranging from five to seven feet tall, stood in a large circle surrounding the group, cheering on the little dinosaurs, taunting them for having trouble against a female. Many of them were variants of the species represented by Lou, Scabby, and Lingo. They all wore light blue work shirts with "Wesayso" emblazoned in a red and white oval on their backs.

The larger dinosaurs' tails started to twitch and their jaws salivated as she winnowed down her smaller attackers to about three individuals, who were faster on their feet than the rest. The others who weren't dead groaned in discomfort, trying to move but finding they couldn't. Their eyes were tightly shut.

Finally, the young female grabbed at the tail and the neck of the last of her small opponents and pulled hard, popping its spine. She tossed it to the ground and snorted in victory. Glaring at the larger ones as they closed in ominously, she smirked. She had stopped trembling due to the sheer tsunami of adrenaline that washed over her. "If you want more where that came from, come and get me." Though she was starting to get tired, she had never felt so alive.

On the other hand, she was completely surrounded by five similarly-sized Wesayso grunts, who realized she was up against the grill of the vehicle without a good exit strategy. No matter what direction she fled … she'd be caught within seconds.

So, the female did the only sensible thing: she jumped up onto the hood and dashed over the vehicle's roof. As she jumped off the back end, she spotted Spike, who had just recently shown up, looking a bit surprised (if amused).

**

* * *

Howard Handupme: Ahem. This is DNN senior correspondent Howard Handupme. As you might recall, several warnings were put in place before this weekly drama started, warning you that children under the age of thirteen may find some references ill-suited to proper members of society. Tonight, we will not stray far from that at all. In fact, an epic battle filled with breaking bones and jets of blood will ensue, all for a shameless grab for ratings.**

**Should you find yourself the least bit disturbed at the awful carnage you are about to witness, please give us a call at 555-463-5000. Operators are standing by. Of course, we would not give you the REAL DNN phone number, but we will give you the phone number for Earl Sinclair … who probably needs a few prank calls anyway, considering he participated in global genocide.**

**This just in: Should you find it necessary to call and complain … remember that only dinosaurs with no **_**actual**_** lives to speak of would do so. Everyone else is busy trying to afford fuel and food and clothes. Also, if you actually call a number starting with "555" … you are probably Earl Sinclair.**

**We return you to your regularly-scheduled program, which may or not be already in progress.**

* * *

"I don't _believe_ it!" Robbie shrieked. His jaw was agape, his eyes bulging, and his arms dead at his sides. He stared at the upturned vehicle, which sandwiched the lower half of a very large dinosaur with gray thick scales, dark gray pants held with suspenders, and a beaten up thick tail. Robbie was wearing his ski jacket, accentuated with some brown and gray fur pelts for extra warmth.

"Is that … who I think it is?" Charlene quivered, clutching Baby tightly in her arms. Both wore fur parkas and brightly colored mittens.

The female from before nodded, a stunned look in her eyes. She could barely move the rest of her body, but, somehow, her jaw managed to open to speak. "It's Daddy." She gasped. "Spike _killed_ him."

Everyone, including the dumb-struck members of the Scavengers and the Howlin' J band, stared at Spike, who sat in the snow clutching at his right upper arm, wincing. His bandana was nearly torn off completely, his Scavengers jacket in shreds marked with long blood stains, large red handprints overlying the pattern on his tank top, and two of his tail spikes completely sheared off with another one cracked. His breathing was slow and deep through his nose. No one … _no one_ … had _ever_ seen Spike that messed up after a fight.

The female suddenly twirled around and roared at Spike, tears streaming from her eyes, "You _killed_ him! You honest-to-Potato _killed_ him!" She shook her head. "I didn't need your help, Spike!" she continued. "I can take care of _myself_!" When he didn't respond, she moved forward like she was going to bite him. The other Scavengers lunged forward to protect their leader.

Robbie grabbed her by one arm forcefully. "Wendy," he commanded, "lay off! Spike risked his tail to save you."

She turned and pushed her former classmate into the snow with enough force for him to "thud" against the ground underneath. By now she was crying without hesitation, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. "_You two are just alike_!" She pointed at her father's corpse. "You whine about how mean and nasty my father was … but you both are as uncivilized as they come! No one rescues _me_!"

Robbie growled and shot back up. "You honestly think Mr. Richfield wouldn't eat you too? He's not exactly _Herbivore of the Year_, you know!"

Wendy growled through her sobs. "And you two are _so_ known for your chivalrous reputations, right?"

"I coulda left ya," Spike grunted as the others helped him stand up. He waited a few moments until the pain became bearable and continued, "to get eaten by that psycho maniac."

"_Don't you dare call him that_!" Wendy screamed.

"Wendy, your dad ate _all_ your boyfriends except Robbie!" Charlene retorted, trying to get her to see reason. "This wasn't some macho male challenge thing! Your father was going to eat you!"

"_You don't know that_!"

Spike cleared his throat. "And what do you call what he said to me? 'After I gut you I'm goin' after that rebellious little tramp of mine! This is the _last_ time she walks out on me!' Huh? What do you call that … Child Appreciation Day?" he hissed. He didn't wait for an answer. He glanced over at Scabby. "Get that SUV right side up, boys. I think we just found a way to get to the West Coast a heckuva lot faster."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

(60,000,000BC)

They were due to find Sinclair City at any time, having traveled in B. P. Richfield's stretch SUV for forty-eight hours straight. At least it had a working heater, CD player (though the Howlin' J band shuddered at what passed for Lizard music these days), television set with VCR, and mini-fridge. Bare necessities, really, for a long road trip. Robbie drove numbly, his eyes never straying. What was there to avoid except the odd large carcass or broken house? However, they thought, deep in the distance, they could see a tree line near the horizon. He headed for that.

While the band played their own tunes, Charlene cautiously stepped over behind Robbie's seat and tapped him on his shoulder, her eyebrows upturned in a show of concern. Her voice was quiet and almost motherly. "Rob? You haven't spoken for hours. You want to talk?"

Rob shook his head slightly without answering verbally.

Charlene patted him on the shoulder and shrugged. "We're here, you know," she replied softly. "One great big happy family." She noticed her big brother bite his lower lip, gritting his teeth, his brows furrowing. He still didn't respond, so she sat back down on a blue-tinged leather chair. All her life, she had focused on typical female things: fashion, status, and the like. Over the last year or so, however, she had come to realize that she could affect change in her _own_ life. She could be just as smart as Robbie … or her mother. There were three things in life she was most proud of: proving the world was round like an orange, getting hired as her father's supervisor, and going cross-country on her own to discover her own scent. Had Ms. Monica DeVertebrae never met the Sinclairs, she didn't know if she'd ever have tried to challenge herself as a female. Her own mother had wanted to improve herself, but only Monica had been consistent in her worldview. It was something Charlene greatly admired.

It was also the one thing she regretted: not telling her so before she left after the plants died.

Rob kept driving. Driving was comfortable … almost hypnotic, a welcome respite from the massive amount of stimuli in the back. The sounds of Baby griping at Sonny over participating in one of the songs made him relive what had happened last night in the dark cold wasteland around them….

_

* * *

There wasn't a moon. Spike lay outside in the snow, covered with the very large leather and carbon-fiber coat worn by his defeated opponent, though Spike had had to rip out some holes down the spine for his large back spikes. He would replace his Scavenger arm patch later, when they reached this so-called paradise. It would also need some major tailoring, as he was about half Richfield's diameter. He stared at the gale-blown clouds, barely discernible against the black void of sky. Everyone else decided to sleep in the car, which was just fine with him. He didn't like not being able to stretch out in the SUV … and the snow helped numb his wounds. He could hear faint footsteps crunching from around the vehicle, approaching him from the right._

"_Go to bed, Scooter."_

_Robbie rubbed his hands briskly, inhaled and closed his eyes to prepare for the cold, and sat down in the snow. He glanced at his friend uncomfortably. "Spike…."_

"_Sorry I hit the kid," Spike blurted out in a low melancholic voice. "It was uncalled for."_

_Robbie's eyes blinked and widened. He hesitated, and then he cheerfully patted his friend on the shoulder. "I think he likes the attent--."_

_Spike glared at him suddenly. "What did I tell you about --?"_

_Robbie smirked. "You told me I couldn't touch YOUR jacket." He nodded. "That's Mr. Richfield's jacket. I get a free pass!" he added, chuckling._

_Spike stared at him for a few moments, smirked slightly, and turned away. "Alright, I won't rip your spine out this time. Just don't let it happen again," he teased. After a few silent moments, Spike sighed and began to look at the sky again. "Do you know why she hates me?" he asked his friend out of the blue. His tone suggested less like he wanted an answer and more like he wanted to educate Robbie about it._

"_Uh," Robbie began slowly, "you killed her father, even though he's responsible for destroying the entire planet and eating her boyfriends and selfishly using his corporation to bilk dinosaurs out of billions?"_

_Spike grinned a bit more widely. "Don't try to make me feel better, Scooter." He took a long pause. "She used to be one o' us."_

_Robbie shifted his weight and gulped. "She … she used to be a Scavenger?" he asked timidly. Spike might as well have told him that Wendy had three heads and fire-breathing abilities. He cleared his throat and stared at the snow. He liked Wendy. Like him, she had grown up under an ultra-conservative household and she desperately wanted to make a new life for herself. Besides, it wasn't like he'd ever see Caroline Foxworth again. However, Wendy had been rumored to have a bad reputation. While it turned out it was her father's fault, this new bit of information made him slightly MORE uncomfortable._

_On the other hand, he'd once been the LEADER of the Scavengers, so, maybe it didn't really matter after all._

_Spike shot a glance at Robbie. "Why d'you think she wore that black leather vest when you two love birds met at the pet shop?"_

"_Girls are into leather?"_

_Spike snickered and shook his head. "Nah, Scooter … she was one o' Andre's flings. Her ol' man never found out about it. That homin' signal t'ing he placed on her got lousy reception in the swamp. That's why she liked takin' boys there." He smiled warmly. "That's what I liked about her … that little rebellious streak. I figured Andre to be real brave or real dumb – even I wouldn't date a Richfield."_

"_So, she's mad at you because you thought she'd eat you?"_

_Spike scoffed and bumped Robbie with his shoulder, grunting and wincing as he suddenly remembered the pain in his right arm. "Don't make me laugh, Scooter. I didn't know about DAT particular rumor 'til YOU started datin' her." He shook his head. "Nah … she knows my rep."_

"_Scourge of the Swamp?" Robbie asked, trying to hide his amazement. Spike wasn't the kind of dinosaur to open up to anyone. He still couldn't figure out where his friend was going with this._

"_Connoisseur of Fine Females," Spike corrected. "I was fully booked with slender tails and dainty claws since before you entered high school."_

_Robbie nodded. "So I recall."_

_Spike lost his nostalgic grin. He stared at the ground. "You remember how I got transferred to La Brea 'cause I ate the principal?"_

"_That DOES seem to ring a bell," Robbie replied. He hoped that this conversation would continue in earnest. Spike was notorious in their friendship for starting a tear-jerking story and then twisting it to something juvenile and amusing … well, amusing for teenage male dinosaurs, anyway._

_There was a long, almost frustrating pause. "I ate him 'cause he threatened to make certain … personal problems … public." He sighed. "I had been in a great relationship with a tall athletic fem lizard with aquamarine scales with golden highlights and a jaw that could break rocks and a tail that wouldn't quit." He smiled briefly. "I was almost sixteen. I guess dat woulda made you about thirteen at the time. Anyways, she was the furthest I evah got to havin' a real adult relationship, wit' all the trappin's." Outside of Robbie's view, Spike wistfully rubbed the ring in his pocket with his fingers._

_Robbie stayed dead silent. He was terrified that if he said anything more, Spike would clam up. Whatever was wrong with arguably his best friend, it was bubbling and boiling within him … and maybe he was finally letting Robbie in on this secret after getting his tail handed to him by Richfield, barely winning except by stroke of sheer luck._

* * *

Baby flung tape after videotape in disgust. "_Hostile Takeover on the Corporation … Sarcastic Convenience Store Employees … Crouching Raptor, Hidden Swamp Monster …." _He stared at one in wide-eyed wonder, caressing it tenderly in his chubby pink hands_. "Little Underwater Girl_?"

Wendy smiled. "My father played that for me all the time when I was younger." She shot a deadly glance at Spike. As though her anger vanished instantly, she patted Baby warmly on the back. "You can go ahead and play that, if you want." She laughed cheerfully. "I loved the song, 'Under the Water' … I'd sing it all the time."

Howlin' J buried his head in his arms. "Please … _please_ … no," he whimpered. "I'm an old mammal … let me spend my last few years in peace and dignity," he added, making everyone chuckle … except for Baby.

"It's a classic!" he retorted angrily, sheltering it in his arms.

Howlin' laughed. "Yeah … a classic waste of time!" He pointed at it like it was possessed by evil demons. "Rebellious little fish-lizard hybrid wants to leave her posh underwater crib, moanin' about how just awful and unfair her life is …."

"Go ahead and put it on," Spike told the Sinclair youngest, egging him on. "She sounds like my type o' girl," he added, laughing towards Wendy Richfield, who rolled her eyes in disgust. Spike gulped and turned his eyes back on the kid slightly sheepishly.

Baby stared at Spike in amazement. "You never watched the _Little Underwater Girl_? Or _Pretty Gallimimus Girl and the Ugly Caveman_?"

Spike grinned warmly, leaning forward. "I had ta make up my own entertainment when I was a kid, Kid," he replied. He briefly pouted teasingly. "We didn't have the money to buy electronics back when I was your age. And stealin' it made less sense since we couldn't eat the stuff."

Baby perked up. "It's real good! I'll show you!" he added, plopping in the tape.

_

* * *

Spike ground his teeth, staring off into space. "The Queens of the Pack weren't like us, Scooter," he continued. "They were just there as a favor ta Andre, if you get my meanin'. They could leave or stay. They weren't bound to the Pack."_

"_So Wendy left Andre?"_

_Spike grimaced. "Stop talkin' 'bout Wendy, Scooter. I just mentioned it to transition into my story," he told his friend bitterly, pulling the leather coat closer to him. "Anyway, Andre found out about my girlfriend and got jealous."_

_Robbie nodded. "Because having a girlfriend threatened his authority within the Pack?"_

_Spike stared at Robbie for several moments. "You gonna let me tell it, Scooter?"_

_Robbie lowered his head, shrugging slightly, rubbing his hands in the cold. "Yeah. Sorry to interrupt. It was rude of me."_

_Spike leaned back against the vehicle. "I thought so. You're excused." He licked his lips. "Havin' girls wasn't the problem. We ALL had girls on da side. No," he continued, inhaling deeply, "he was mad because … because …."_

_Robbie stared at him expectantly, nearly bouncing up and down with anticipation. "She was pregnant," Spike finally muttered. "I was gonna be a father. For the first time in my life, I was gonna raise a kid better'n my ol' man raised me. It was too late for me, but I could help the kid become everything he or she deserved to be." Robbie sat silently, mulling over this information. Spike continued, without a single tear being shed or his voice wavering, "He gut her and ate the egg right outta her, in front o' everybody, Scooter." He turned to stare at Robbie. "Someone in the Pack told Wendy when she was wit' Andre." He returned his gaze to the cloudy night sky. "Andre liked destroyin' families. He didn't mind if we had fun, but he didn't want us to be involved wit' anything that could make us leave the pack." He sighed. "I just got tired of it eventually."_

* * *

Robbie continued to drive (as he was the only one with a license, though it really didn't matter what with the destruction of the government and all), obsessing over his conversation with Spike. So, their friendship began to make sense. Spike had lost his family, so Robbie and his family were like surrogates to help ease his pain. He had known Spike for a few years and had never figured it out. After all, Spike considered the Scavengers his family. He always thought Spike befriended him literally for the food at his mother's house. Now he realized Spike felt guilty about not being able to raise his own offspring. Spike really cared about Robbie's academic and social success because it gave him a chance to take on the paternal role he had wanted almost four years ago for his own family.

"Hey!" Sonny yelled from the front passenger seat, jumping up and down in excitement, pointing to the windshield. "Look, everybody … a forest!"

Just ahead, a tree line several miles wide came into sharp focus. There was ash on the leaves … but they had leaves.

It was about time.

They were running out of gas.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

(Summer, 2011AD)

"Doc" Jerome Christian, a very elderly man in his early nineties, perhaps (birthdays could be fun to celebrate so long as one didn't pay close attention to the number of them you've had), sat in his brown pajamas at the pale oak computer desk in his motel room. It was a modest room with white walls and dark blue bedspread on each double bed. There was a small painting of a seashore with a lighthouse looking over some ships hung on the wall next to a large window with dark blue curtains. He stared, hunched over, at the letter that came with the package marked "Return to Sender", sighing.

**Jerome,**

**I found your package the other day. Unfortunately, that "tenant" is no longer reachable from that particular location. You see, the Water Department investigated the numerous complaints about the water supply in the building and … well … how can I put it?**

**There IS no wall access anymore, Jerome. Whatever that inspector did, it made that particular location unrecognizable. She said it was for the safety of "endangered species". I'm sorry, Jerome. If I could forward this to your friend, I would. There's no one to give it to, I'm afraid. That's why I sent it back to you. I thought maybe you should have the opportunity to come up with another plan.**

**I still miss our "business meetings" along the seashore. Watching the sun rise over the Atlantic with you lightened my heart in ways you'd never understand.**

**I'm glad you managed to get away from Arizona. You're in Oregon, now? It must be beautiful there. You need to be away from Arizona in the summer, Jerome. We'll always miss our friends but life must go on, you know?**

**I'm … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to minimize what this time of the year means to you.**

**There are days I wish you'd come back. I know you won't, but watching over your friend here helped ease the pain of your departure. Now I don't even have that anymore. I just stay up late working on the Inn, meeting investors, working with the accountants, etc.**

**I guess we both bury ourselves in our work, huh?**

**Good luck with your research.**

**Sincerely,**

**Betty Ardath**

Doc put the letter down, his hands trembling from old age. He stared at the package. Inside was a book he had made for his friend, with pictures captured from the video he and Sir David Tushingham had found in Montana a few weeks ago. His friend had told him of his winter holiday celebrations, including various legends associated with them. The centipede-like creatures in the screenshots seemed so close to his description of a mythical beast that protected his homeland from destruction.

All Doc had wanted to do was supply his friend with possible confirmation of the legend. It seemed harmless enough. Now, apparently, he couldn't mail it. The hole that led to a mystical cave system was gone. He wondered how its inhabitants would get water, since they had depended on the pipes from his workshop all those years. He shrugged, trying to smile. Things would work out, he thought to himself. They always did.

His friend was a magical subterranean mammal named Gobo Fraggle. He had appeared to Doc when Doc was depressed about his friend Ned's failing health. Later, when he and Ned moved to Arizona, a mystical hole had appeared in the wall to his living room. Gobo Fraggle had re-appeared, bringing with him his friends.

"You can _not_ leave the magic," the little creature had told him.

"Perhaps, Gobo, perhaps," Doc noted sadly, closing his eyes. "Yet … those who made me feel that magic have left _me_."

Life just wasn't the same without Sprocket or Ned. Those two had meant more to him than anything else, even Ms. Ardath. They had made his life seem almost magical. He also felt a surging wave of magic within him when Gobo appeared. It was as if his appearance had reawakened a long-dark spark in his heart, something he didn't even know existed. Now Sprocket was gone. Ned was gone. The Fraggles were unavailable.

Losing one's spark hurt _more_ once you found out it existed in the first place.

* * *

(60,000,000BC)

Charlene Sinclair stared at her reflection in the lake, twisting and turning as she observed how the fur tunic fit around her green scaly frame. She, her siblings, the Scavenger Pack, and the Howlin' J band had arrived week before last in the barely spoiled land that would have been known as Sinclair City had her father had his way. The valley was several hundred miles long, complete with rivers and forests and caves high above the bordering mountains where cavemen stayed. Although ash covered the edges of the valley, the innermost land was largely untouched … except for a road here and there and some abandoned buildings. Wesayso had wanted to denude the forest for sports arenas and other economic havens, despite the cavemen's presence.

In a couple of months, they would celebrate the New Year in 59,999,999 BC (which stood for "Backwards Counting" or something like that). She was sure there was some sort of logic to counting time backwards … she just didn't know what it was.

A twig snapped behind her. She gasped and turned to find a small brunette pale-skinned caveling, with unruly locks of hair cascading from a tiny hairband. The little creature was nearly half Charlene's height and had bright pink spandex leggings under its fur tunic. Charlene smiled and posed for it. "Look, kid, this looks good, don't you think?" The child smiled and clapped. Charlene's own smile grew bigger. "Well, we'll have to thank your parent for giving me this, won't we?" she added cheerfully. Suddenly, her face fell slightly. "We should always thank our parents when they do something nice for us," she told the human child sadly. The child jumped up and did a somersault. Charlene smiled weakly. "Hey, you remembered…." It warmed her heart to find the cavelings she had trained to do circus tricks some time ago. While she came to despise herself for exploiting them, they seemed no worse for wear. The ever-present smile on the humans' faces reminded her that there was always hope.

* * *

Baby and Sonny stared at the drawing for several minutes with their heads tilted to the right as they contemplated its meaning, their tails swaying back and forth slowly. Sketched onto the face of a large boulder deep in the forest was a small rodent-like creature with a mischievous grin, wearing a heavy-looking crown.

"Oh, don't tell me he's doing it _here_, too," a female voice whined behind them. They turned to find a small brown-furred bulbous-nosed mammal with closely-spaced eyes and crossed arms and a snarl on her lips.

Baby and Sonny looked at each other quizzically. "What do you mean by that?" Sonny asked in his high-pitched gravelly voice.

The female mammal shook her head and pointed at the drawing. "Some arrogant little rat thinks he's better than everyone else. He paints his picture all over cave walls in the mountains. I guess this means he's been here too. He thinks that just because he survived being eaten by a swamp monster a couple of years ago, he should be king over all the mammals." She paused and stared at them. "Uh, why aren't you two fighting to the death?"

Sonny shrugged, patting Baby on the back enthusiastically. "Me an' the kid here are _tight_, hon," he announced to Baby's cheers. "We're a part of the new generation!"

Baby nodded. "Yeah! Tight!" he barked happily in an even _higher_ squeaky voice. "Clothes too small! No tailor!"

The two mammals stared blankly at the lone Lizard.

The brown-furred female shook her head slowly. "Uh, look: while I applaud this general sense of harmony between species … it kinda creeps me out. Later," she said, waving dismissively as she strolled away.

Sonny watched her leave and shrugged. He turned to his saurian friend. "Huh … I wonder what got _her_ fur matted into knots?"

* * *

"C'mon, Spike! Why can't I get a jacket?" Robbie asked his friend angrily as they sat fishing by the side of a crystal clear river with a branch and some twine.

Spike glared at him. "Because I ain't holdin' auditions for any more pack positions, alright?" he snarled.

Robbie huffed and threw down his improvised rod. Standing up, he angrily pointed at the Leader of the Scavengers. "Look, Spike … this isn't like before. I'm not coming to you begging for help. I'm asking as an equal."

Spike flashed a smirk. "Well, that's funny, Scooter … since even Crazy Lou can take you wit' one arm tied around his back … _and_ blindfolded," he shot back, chuckling.

Robbie growled, clenching his fists. He kicked some rocks into the river.

"Hey, you'll scare da fish!" Spike protested. "Let it go, Scooter … you're not Scavenger material," he said curtly.

Robbie glared at his friend, who continued to concentrate on fishing, even to the point of humming a cheerful tune to himself. "How many creatures do I have to kill in order for you to trust me?" he demanded. "I'm the alpha male of my family now, Spike … I'm not the victimized teenager anymore."

Spike shook his head. "No, now you're the deranged idiot who confuses drivin' a stolen car wit' bein' a hardcore pack member." Rob started to yell again, but Spike cut him off with an icy glare. "_Drop_ it," he said in a deadly tone, making Robbie kick his fishing rod into the river and stomping off.

Spike smirked and patted the ground next to him. "He's gone … you can stop skulking around the treeline, sis," he announced without looking back.

A brown female dinosaur with tiny spikes all over her scalp and wearing a fur tunic silently sat down beside him, staring at the river. "How … how do you see me?" she said in a broken accent. Her voice was deep and low-key.

Spike smiled, tugging casually on his fishing rod. "I make it my business to know who's stalkin' me, toots."

The female glanced at him, her head bowed as a sign of respect. "Please … I am to be called Thighs of Thunder. 'Toots' is derogatory."

Spike cocked an eyebrow and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You let playful male banter upset you like that, cinnamon bun?" he asked, unable to hide a wide grin.

She lunged forward, her snout splashing wildly into the river. When she pulled it out, a wriggling fish at least a couple of feet long struggled against her sharp teeth. She took it out of her mouth and offered it to Spike. Just when he was about to take it, she snatched it away, stood, and turned to leave, smiling teasingly. "Fish more nutritious, Oh Horny One," she told him. "Pastries bad for digestion."

"Spike," he corrected in awe as the drops of water fell off her snout, glinting in the sunlight.

As enchanted by the caveman-raised fem-lizard as he was, he started to feel pangs of guilt. Robbie had a point: he wasn't the wuss he used to be, though he was still far short of Scavenger material. He watched the fish in the clear blue water ignore his baited hook.

It must be a family thing, he thought to himself. Rob had always had a real family, one that loved him and sheltered him and encouraged him (despite what Robbie thought, sometimes). He was unused to the idea of being on his own. The last time he tried to win supremacy over his old man, it ended in disaster (which Spike had thought _extremely_ funny) and he had to get on his knees and sob and beg to get his childhood back. Rob could never seem to temper his idealism with a sense of practicality. His highest dream as long as Spike had known him was to be "King of Teenage Pangaea" … a rock superstar with ladies swarming all over him. Now, all that was gone. Oh, he could still work up some music if he wanted, but his audience was a sliver of a fraction of what it could have been. That was what made the Scavengers "better," if you could call it that: they were adaptable. They already only had themselves, so they didn't have any emotional luggage that dragged them down and made them prey for some creature hiding behind every rock.

Spike nodded slightly to himself. Robbie wasn't asking to be a member of a pack.

He wanted to be part of a family.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

(60,000,000BC)

"When was the last time you saw him?" asked Spike in a sleepy voice, massaging the back of his neck as he and Robbie marched through the forest just after dawn. He finished adjusting his newly tailored jacket, which had taken him all night to alter, as the sounds of branches snapping punctuated their otherwise silent walk over a tree-covered hill.

"Last night," Robbie replied as though he had answered that question a dozen times already. Rob wore his black and white striped T-shirt and his Rampaging Trilobites red varsity jacket and his scuffed up red and white sneakers. He sighed, shaking his head. "I woke up just before dawn and saw this slip of paper." He took out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and showed it to Spike. The paper showed a crudely-drawn picture of two pink circles, one on top of each other, with the top one decorated with a smile and two purple eyes and the bottom one connected to a thick triangular tail. Little stick arms and legs stuck out from the bottom circle as well. Some trees and a lone mountain were to the left of the figure, as well as a green blob with a triangular wedge sticking out from the bottom.

Spike grunted and handed it back to Rob. "What's the shapeless green thing?"

Robbie tried to wipe away a tear casually so Spike wouldn't notice. He cleared his throat. "It's how he draws Dad. He must be trying to get back to him."

"But the SUV's the uddah way," Spike noted.

Robbie stopped cold and turned toward Spike with a look of confusion. "He's a _kid_, Spike! What does _he_ know?"

Spike couldn't help but smirk. "He knows how to disappear," he said jokingly.

A brisk wind from the east brought ash and soot from further towards the border of the valley, making their eyes sting. They tried to use their jackets to shelter their snouts from the sudden ash storm, but soon it got to be too much for them and they had to stop. After a few minutes, the winds died down and their surroundings were transformed into a gray parody of the lush green area.

Spike frowned. "This is gonna make trackin' 'im a little harder," he said to himself bitterly.

* * *

(Summer, 2011AD)

Sir David Tushingham, a laughingstock of a paleontologist, dug into the soft earth just outside the rim to Crater Lake in Oregon, opposite the ridge from Wizard Island. Tired from poking around the dirt and rocks all morning long, he climbed over the ridge to gaze at the crystal clear lake. Near Wizard Island floated a rather large tree stump. He had heard of this tree before; "The Old Man of the Lake", they called it. It floated forever and was rumored to create storms when bound.

Unable to stop himself for the sake of his curiosity, he approached the edge of the lake and found, to his amusement, that the tree approached the edge as well, floating remarkably fast for just some driftwood. Sir Tushingham's pith helmet flew off behind him as a brisk wind appeared, apparently the same wind that drove the tree towards him.

He could see as it came close to the lake's edge that there was a large crack near the top of the stump and something glinting within. He looked around and waded into the water to investigate. As the tree stump came to a rest, he tried to pry apart the crack a little and noted with more than a little interest that a small glass bottle was embedded deep into the tree. He could barely see, but it looked like there was the same crystal clear water in the bottle as there was in the lake (with the exception, of course, of the place where he was standing, having muddied up the water a bit when he walked into the cold crisp water).

* * *

(60,000,000BC)

After about an hour of walking down the hill towards some mountains on the edge of the valley, Spike and Robbie started to hear moaning and wheezing. They looked at each other, shrugged, and walked in the direction of the sound. Soon they came upon Sonny, the eager young blue mammal from Howlin' J's band, who leaned back against a tree and wheezed and coughed. He seemed to have some matted fur and some scrapes on his arms and snout. His new yellow T-shirt (he was going through about a T-shirt every month or so) was dusted with gray ash.

Robbie ran up to him and kneeled down, checking Sonny for wounds. "Who did this to you?" he interrogated the winded mammal.

Sonny coughed and shook his head. "Nobody, Rob … I just got allergies, is all." He blew his nose on his T-shirt and looked up. "I lost track o' da kid before dawn." He pointed all around him. "Some cavelings gave us some little white flowers and da kid thought … well, I thought, too … that they were some human snack or somethin'. Then the kid gets all freaked out and starts goin' on about ghosts and monsters, pushes me down that hill, and runs off … somewhere." He coughed again. "I guess the Lizard ain't _supposed_ to eat that stuff. I mean, _I_ didn't see any ghosts or monsters."

Spike stared at the little blue mammal. "Where d'ya think he'd go?" he asked in a stern yet concerned voice.

Sonny spat on the ground and looked up at his large saurian friend. "Hey, how the heck should _I_ know?" he screamed. "He ain't no newborn, ain't got no parents --."

"Hey! He has me an' Charlene!" Robbie protested angrily.

Sonny glanced at Robbie. "—an' he can walk now and he can go where he wants to go." He paused, glaring at Robbie. "You keep wantin' to chain 'im down like that an' you'll be cursed with a kid dat never grows up!"

Spike glanced warily at Robbie, who remained motionless, his eyes wide, breathing in short shallow breaths. Spike didn't want to tell him that he thought Sonny had a point because he knew his friend wouldn't take it very well, considering Spike had just yesterday forbidden him from re-joining the Scavengers. After all, what was Spike to do? Let him back in?

_Rob was stuck to the lockers thanks to the large green spikes that had grown out of his back. He had tried to take a swipe at Spike, who nimbly twisted around and shoved his newly-bulky friend into the lockers of Bob LaBrea High School that one night at the dance._

"_I'm gonna sit right here, an' watch your muscles fall off," Spike had told him matter-of-factly as he sat down on the opposite side of the hall._

_They sat there for about forty-five minutes, the music from the dance dying down. Rob was starting to groan from withdrawal. Rob glared at this dinosaur who dared to oppose him. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he growled with a very deep voice, his eyes losing focus due to the growing migraine._

"_I TOLD you dose t'ings were bad news, Scooter," Spike retorted, crossing his arms defiantly, leaning against some lockers with a clang._

"_DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Rob bellowed, struggling to break free, then cringing from the headache yelling caused. "You were the most awesome dinosaur I had ever met. All I ever wanted was to be like you. You did what you wanted, you didn't care what other dinosaurs thought …. Yet every time I get close – you shoot me down. Why can't you make up your freakin' mind, you pathetic 'rebel without a cause' loser? Huh?" He struggled against the lockers, growling. "You're just like my father. You offer the carrot on the stick … and then you yank it away right when I get to the point where I can reach it," he continued to rant resentfully._

"_I don't talk ta thornoids, KID," Spike muttered with a hiss._

_Robbie scoffed. "You think I'm just sayin' this stuff 'cause of what I ate, huh, Spike? Let me tell you something … I've never felt less inhibited. I feel free." He looked around at his predicament and sighed. "Emotionally, anyway," he grumbled. "I finally have the courage to tell you off and like some pathetic little whiner, you can't handle a frank assessment of your friendship."_

* * *

Wendy, wearing a pink T-shirt and a black leather vest, and Thighs of Thunder, wearing a fur tunic and bone earrings, finally tracked Charlene down by her whimpering. They caught up to her and told her to stop running. Charlene, still wearing the fur tunic the cavepeople had given her, turned, wiping her eyes, and blubbered, "I have to find Baby, Wendy! Mom told me to keep watch over him! What if he's eaten?" Her face grew more and more horrified. "What if he's fallen down a big random hole somewhere in the valley? What if he's cut to ribbons by some creep in a large red triangular paper hat and an apron and big carving knife?"

Wendy and Thighs of Thunder looked at each other and back at Charlene. Wendy spoke first, "Charlene, you're letting your imagination get to you. Calm down, and we'll handle this logically."

Charlene sighed, exasperated. "Baby is the _least_ logical dinosaur in all of _Pangaea_!" she screamed, bursting into tears.

Thighs of Thunder walked up to Charlene and patted her gently on the shoulder. "The pink one is chasing a large green shadow," she offered quietly.

Charlene sniffled. She wiped her eyes. "A … a … large green shadow?" She paused. "How do _you_ know?"

Thighs of Thunder shrugged. "Cavepeople have sophisticated communication abilities."

Charlene cocked an eyebrow. "All they do is grunt," she replied innocently.

The cavemen-reared saurian female squinted. "And yet … _you_ with … superior … knowledge … cannot find a mere _toddler_."

* * *

Robbie trudged silently through the gray forest toward a large mountain just up ahead. Whenever Baby got scared back at home, he would jump supernaturally high up to a stalactite on the ceiling. This, from a dinosaur who couldn't walk. So, logically, he might very well have gone up to the mountain. He noticed a large sheet of white paper nailed to a distant tree. Upon approaching, he noticed it was a map of the valley.

_Why are there always helpful maps just when you need them in situations like these_, Robbie wondered to himself, walking with his hands in his pockets. He noticed a Wesayso logo in the right bottom corner. "Hm, they intended to put up a ski lift over here," he said aloud.

"I want _you_ to be my daddy," Baby's high-pitched voice cheerfully announced (with some reverb).

Robbie stopped and looked around anxiously. A few birds and small pterodactyls flew off into the sky from the tops of the trees, and some large insects buzzed to his right. However, there was no sign of his baby brother.

He had told Spike to take Sonny back to the band. For some strange reason that he couldn't quite understand, Spike just silently nodded and left with the allergy-suffering mammal. Robbie sighed. He shouldn't have mouthed off to Spike yesterday, he thought sullenly. Spike apparently thought his friend was too good for the pack life, though he wasn't willing to say it.

Yet …

… except for his brother, Robert Mark Sinclair didn't have any males to call family anymore.

Except for his siblings, he didn't have _any_ family anymore … even "Uncle" Roy and the guys from his father's work.

Robbie had tried to see the pros and cons of their current situation. On one hand, there wouldn't be any bills to pay because the government was non-existent and life had become infinitely simplified thanks to living in a barely-disturbed paradise. On the other hand, Thighs of Thunder said there might be only a thousand or two dinosaurs left … _if_ it were assumed that they weren't the only ones to think of coming to this valley. Also, he …

… he wasn't ready. He was only sixteen. Spike was the oldest, going on nineteen. That didn't make him feel comfortable. He hadn't completed high school yet. What if there were important lessons that would have helped him in this situation. He shook his head. Maybe, just maybe – there would never be any textbooks that could give him the answers he needed.

He needed advice.

Just as he got to the base of the mountain, Robbie saw something white fluttering up the side about fifty feet up. He started to climb, but at about fifteen feet up he began to wish he had brought a thermos with him. Or a canteen. Or just a sippy-cup. Anything would be helpful.

A rock underneath his right foot slipped and he fell back down to the ground with a large "Oof". Robbie gagged as water started pouring onto his head. He stood up, wiped his face off with his jacket, and looked up. A stream of pressurized water shot out of a small hole where the rock had been. He cupped his hands and sniffed it. It smelled like strawberries. He tasted a little and cringed and spat it out.

_Whoa_, he griped to himself, _that water's WAY too carbonated_. _There must be enough caffeine in that stuff to kill a full-grown swamp monster._

With a new sense of determination, Rob started to climb the mountain. He arrived at a wide ledge and looked around after catching his breath. He heard a faint fluttering sound and looked to his left. Maybe it was another drawing, though it seemed a little thick. He hopped over to it and grabbed and clutched it in his hands … only to realize it was a discarded (and used) diaper.

"Ewewewewewew! Gross!" he cried, chucking it down the mountainside. He vigorously wiped his hands on his jacket … wishing he had kept some of that vile-tasting water so he could wash his hands. He stared down at the mountain….

After washing his hands, it was time to climb _all_ the way back up to the ledge. Having reached it a _second_ time, Robbie started calling out for his brother, cupping both hands around his snout. He saw trees all around on the valley floor, a breeze starting to shake the ash from the canopy, resurrecting the area in a wash of green. Leaves of many shapes and sizes twirled into the air as Robbie watched in a random awe.

_Some of us are trees, rooted in the ground, some of us are leaves that the breeze blows all around_. Robbie's eyes started to water – the whole thing reminded him of family. Back when he was a child, his grandmother would read him a story about a tree with long golden leaves that switched lives with a tree-pusher. No one knew what that tree was called, but it was rumored in common childhood myths that it gave you a broadened perspective if you touched it. Perhaps, Robbie mused, he might see if one of those trees existed in this valley. Surely _he_ needed help figuring out what to do. When Baby was younger, Robbie had put it into his brother's head that the tree-pusher was actually his father and that it was a secret, since at the end of the story the tree-pusher didn't remember what had happened to him and it wasn't nice to bring up a painful past. So, Robbie sometimes wondered if his baby brother ever imagined his father when Grandma Ethyl read that same story to him.

He noticed some movement further along the ledge. A tail. A thick, green tail.

"Dad?" he whispered.

He ran, his heart racing. He couldn't believe that his parents had survived the nuclear winter and had even made it to the valley. Maybe they had decided to just hop in the car after all.

A fine white mist filled his range of vision and Robbie stopped dead cold. The mist was freezing on his skin. He shook, afraid to move, lest he accidentally fall off the ledge.

An oval caveperson's face appeared in the mist to his side. It smirked. "If your destiny is to swim, you must get your feet wet," it offered in a silky voice. Suddenly, it vanished, the mist dissipating. "Robbie?" it seemed to whisper in a caring female voice.

"_Robbie_!" he heard a female voice proclaim loudly as he found himself nearly crushed in two thick green arms that threatened to crack his ribs. It had a familiar twang to it….

Robbie managed to break free and let the new arrival come into focus. It was his father … he thought. The same bulky green scales with the pale underside … only this Earl wore rose-red lipstick and blue eye-shadow and a light beige long-sleeved shirt with a fringed collar and sleeves.

"Aunt … Aunt _Pearl_? Is it really _you_?" he gasped, blinking distinctly. He glanced down the side of the mountain. "Uh, no offense, but how did you climb up here?"

Pearl, who kinda looked like Earl in drag, smiled and waved dismissively at her nephew. "Aw, shucks, Rob … those little cave-folk have a stairway built up to this ledge about fifty feet 'round this here mountain."

Pearl led Robbie around the mountainside to a large cave. Deep inside, in the middle of a huddled group of fur-clad cavepeople, sat Baby, who was laughing and telling jokes. Pearl nudged Robbie, staring at her youngest nephew. "Yeah, heard the little pink dumplin' yellin' and screamin' at imaginary monsters from way up on that ledge. Poor little thing ripped off his diaper and jumped off the ledge and practically just belly-flopped right in my big green lovin' arms!" She laughed as though the child had drawn her a picture for her refrigerator. "Those cave-folk came outta this tunnel and motioned for us to come on in, so that's precisely what I did." She sighed happily, slapping her teen nephew hard on the back. "Yes sir … I sure am glad to know you folks managed to show up here. I _thought_ Earl'd be dragged here by his wife!"

Robbie lowered his head.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

(60,000,000BC)

Pearl walked up to Charlene from behind, watching the teen stare at the Scavengers Lingo and Crazy Lou as they played Scrabble and argued over whether or not pack slang counted. Charlene, in the fur tunic, sat on a boulder by the sparkling river, sighing. Pearl, shimmering herself in a sparkling red and blue outfit and shaded with a large white cowboy hat with a tuft of short yellow feathers in the front, cleared her throat gently.

Charlene yipped and turned. She nodded in greeting. "Oh, hi, Aunt Pearl," she said, beginning with a cheerful voice and ending with a low-key one. She returned to gazing at the two males who were now yelling at each other.

Pearl wore a compassionate expression on her face and grunted as she sat down on the ground beside Charlene to the girl's left. She watched the two males for a few minutes before speaking. "Now, I thought I'd never seen you all dolled up in a human getup to save my life, child," she commented with a country twang to her voice.

"It was all they had," Charlene replied as though she didn't really want to participate in a conversation. However, she soon started picking at it and sighed. "Humans live in cool dank caves, so they need lots of insulation." She sniffed at the fur. "I guess it also masks their scent from predators," she noted, shuddering slightly.

"You know, I saw you on TV awhile back," Pearl acknowledged in a maternal tone. "I thought your act with those cavelings was top-notch --."

"But the crowd kept wanting more and more," Charlene protested. "I couldn't hurt them just to be famous."

Pearl patted her niece on the back gently. "What I was going to say was, that … that I was real proud of how brave you were, darlin'."

Charlene turned towards her aunt. "What would you say if I told you I thought that little beige one over there was cute?" she asked skeptically. "He's real knowledgeable and smart and has a great sense of duty."

Pearl smirked. "Isn't he a pack member?"

Charlene frowned, crossing her arms. "There's somewhat of a shortage of rodeo clowns," she retorted, growling.

Pearl laughed. "Now don't go off and sound like your daddy, Charlene," she drawled. "I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were gettin' into, is all."

"Did you know what _you_ were getting into with Buttons, or Danny, or any of the other guys?"

Pearl's face fell. She nodded slowly, looking at the ground. "I suppose, from a certain point of view … namely your father's," she said under her breath, "that I deserved that." She looked up at her niece. "Charlene, I'm not your Papa and never claimed to be." She pointed at Crazy Lou. "If you see something behind that 'bad boy' exterior that others don't … you just keep on seein' it and don't let anyone tell you different." She paused, her tone more serious. "Just don't confuse a boy with a healthy self-esteem."

Charlene cracked a smile and sighed, looking back at Crazy Lou, who was jumping up and down in victory. She smiled. "I won't, Aunt Pearl. I've done a lot of growing up since I was younger."

Pearl smiled warmly. "Yes sir, I sure do think you have. I know your parents are proud of you."

Charlene bit her lower lip, trembling.

Pearl looked shocked momentarily and wrapped an arm around Charlene. "Now, honey, I didn't mean to go an' upset you. I didn't know about Earl and Fran until Robbie told me this morning."

Charlene sniffled and looked at her. "You don't sound so upset."

Pearl glanced toward the ground and took her arm off Charlene's back. "Well, darlin', you remember that song I wrote for your pa, about leaves and trees?" Charlene nodded. "The thing is … despite everything, that was the only way your father _could_ have acted. He's a big strong tree with deep roots and trees don't budge … no matter what the danger. Besides, he had a family to take care of. Your father isn't the brightest star in the sky … but honor and duty are two things that he's unable to disobey." She swallowed, her voice getting quieter. "I suppose lettin' you kids run off on your own to this valley was Fran's idea…." Charlene nodded, wiping away her eyes. Pearl nodded. "I thought so … Earl doesn't like change, particularly when it comes to his family." She saw Charlene quietly sobbing. "Now, Charlene … I don't pretend to have all the answers, but … sometimes plants wither in the wintertime, darlin', and the hardy ones come back next spring. I don't want you kids to have false hopes, but if there's anyone who's too thick to accept defeat, it's your pa."

"Do … do you really think there's a chance they could survive after all?"

Pearl sighed and lowered her head. "Well, I'll be honest: it's pretty bad out there, darlin'." She looked up at the sun high above them and turned her eyes back to the ground. "I can't see your folks just up an' dyin' without a fight, but I don't know their situation, either. I came here because I just assumed Earl would take you here, since he discovered it and all." She sighed. "I guess there must have been more to that situation than I thought." Her eyes started to water as she stared off into the distance. "If he really is gone … I … I … I hope … he finds … peace." Her voice broke. "But even a dead tree can rise again, given the right circumstances," she continued with a surer voice.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

(Not applicable)

The Afterlife, a large beach-themed resort hotel, opened its doors promptly at six in the morning. Clouds wafted in from outside. The beige turtle-faced dinosaur, wearing a flowing pink robe and cheap clip-on wings made out of gold leaf, glanced around in the doorway and shrugged. He turned back toward his desk, which was a large semi-circular desk with a pale pink façade with gold lettering that spelled "Afterlife". The top of the desk was a white marble, complete with a matching computer and desk lamp. On each side was a pale blue seahorse with a lighted spine that stood about seven feet tall. A couple of frosted ferns sat on high pedestals behind the desk against a mural of palm trees. A large lighted harp about six feet tall stood near the front door while a marbled ceiling fan twirled lazily.

The "angel" dinosaur hummed a cheerful tune as he typed away. He suddenly stopped, looked around nervously, clicked on the mouse, and started playing Solitaire.

A "ding" from a small bell startled him. He looked up and to his right to see a tall green female dinosaur with a multi-colored blouse, red nail polish, bright pink lining her four head crests, and a worried expression. "Excuse me," she began with a very soothing and maternal voice, "but is this the afterlife?"

The angel sighed, shook his head, and reached over the desk, pointing to the letters on the front. "Read the sign, honey … it's truth in advertising." He walked back over to his computer. "Name?" he asked in a disinterested voice.

"Uh … Fran … Fran Sinclair," she replied. "Excuse me, but shouldn't you know who I am?"

The angel shrugged again. "Hey, look lady … we've started a huge recycling program. I can't waste time trying to remember who you happen to be at the moment." He pointed at the front door impatiently. "It's like a revolving door now. You come in, stay for awhile, and get put back when a new position opens up." He sighed and resumed typing. "It's like we're a temp agency now," he grumbled. "It's not like the _Boss_ has to edit all the databases. Nooooo … we _desk angels_ get stuck with all the paperwork."

Fran grabbed the angel by his robe and leaned in close. "Are my _children_ here?" she asked emphatically, almost desperately.

The angel's eyes widened and he grunted as he tried to pry himself away. "Do you mind if I look it up?" She let him go and he consulted the monitor. "Hm … 'Sinclair', is it?" He shook his head. "Three children … youngest is four … mm-hmm … let me see," he mumbled. Finally, he smiled, slapping the side of his monitor. He glanced at Fran, who was wringing her hands. "They haven't arrived yet. In fact, they're not scheduled to come here for quite some time … especially that eldest one you got."

She stared at the desk as though deep in thought. "Is there any way I can contact them?"

The angel shook his head. "Sorry, only staff can use the IMs here."

Fran tilted her head in confusion as she glanced at him. "What does that stand for?"

The angel smiled. "Interdimensional Messaging. It's all the rage in our Marketing Department." He chuckled. "It's completely state of the art and can be broadcast from anything … televisions, rocks, shrubs, cereal … you name it!" He sighed, placing his head in his hands. "I wish _I_ had the patent on that … I could get out of this entry-level gig and get an _important_ job … like terraforming."

Fran shook her head. "But I need to speak to them. I need to see if they're okay. I want to know if my husband is okay. I've already talked to my parents and they said they hadn't seen my husband. I'm _very_ worried."

The angel cleared his throat. "Mrs. Sinclair … your husband … oh, how can I put this?" He chewed on one finger for a moment. "He's in our 'Not-So-Nice' wing," he told her sadly.

"What does that mean?"

The angel averted his eyes, staring at everything other than her. He tapped his fingers together. "Well, it means your husband was found to be directly responsible for killing billions on your planet. We take that kind of thing _very_ seriously."

Fran scoffed and slammed her hand down on the desk, the sound echoing throughout the lobby. "_Mr. Richfield_ is responsible!" she exclaimed angrily. "My husband was _manipulated_ into agreeing to it!"

The angel scratched his head nervously. He _hated_ it when someone started to make an uncomfortable scene in the lobby. It made him look incompetent. "Let me check," he said finally, tapping away at the computer. He nodded. "Oh, yeah … he's in the 'Stupid Idiot' section. They have to complete a million-year seminar on 'I Am Not a Doormat' and another one on 'Cause and Effect'." He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm afraid the courses are absolutely mandatory. There are no visitors allowed."

"What do I do until then?" Fran demanded.

The angel shrugged. "I dunno, Ma'am. Perhaps I could interest you in our recycling program? It'll put you back with the living so you'll have something to do until your husband gets out." He stared at her as she started to droop sadly, sobbing. He handed her a handkerchief. "Please, Mrs. Sinclair, I _do_ so hate to see grown females cry. Look: I also got several Universe Cruises available, anywhere from the One-Million-Year Camping Trip to the Grand Ten-Million-Year Party Cruise, where you can visit just about every major galaxy currently in existence!"

Fran blew her nose and yelled, "I don't _want_ to go on a cruise! How can I be happy knowing I can't talk to my children _or _my husband?" She broke down, crying uncontrollably. "All I ever wanted was for my family to be happy … to have peace in their hearts and the will to live." She blew her nose again. "Why is that so much to ask?" She continued sobbing. "I'll never be happy without Earl by my side!" she wailed.

A sudden phone ring made them both jump. The angel answered the phone, which apparently was sitting on a shelf behind the desk. He spoke. "Hello, Front Lobby," he said. He nodded as a mumbling voice spoke to him. "Uh-huh, right." He paused to listen. "Really?" he asked in a surprised voice. "Huh, who'd have thought …? Well, I saw that thing about the kid. Yeah. Seems a little early to assign them for a position that far ahead though, isn't it?" He shrugged. "Well, okay," he said with a certain degree of uncertainty in his voice. He hung up the phone and looked at Fran. "Here's the thing, Mrs. Sinclair … and this will be OK'd by the Boss … you can visit your husband every other weekend, but it'll prolong his seminar for another million years. However, in order to get this one-time offer, you and your family … specifically, your mother, your husband, and your youngest child must agree to submit to the recycling program. There are some positions opening up, starting around 1000 CE --."

"CE?"

The angel nodded. "Yeah, 'Calendar Extension'. Anyway, if you agree to this, we'll keep you and your husband together (after his seminars are over, of course) in relationships as particularly long-lived species. That way, you can spend more time alive together." He shook his head and clasped his hands on hers. "My dear, we so rarely get _Destined Couples_. However, you two, if you agree, will be part of something _big_ further along in Earth's history."

"Why do you need my mother?" Fran asked, tearing one hand away to wipe her eyes.

"In order to ensure your personality gets preserved more or less intact, it would help for your mother to raise you in your new lives."

"And Baby?"

The angel laughed nervously, and backed away. "Your child began the process of communing with a recent invention of ours. Their destinies are _mind-bogglingly_ important … so we'll need your son to regain access to their descendants later. Unfortunately," he added sadly, "it might not be possible for you to meet the new version of your kid. However, we'll try to work something out." He smiled. "I guarantee you … both of you will live in Paradise."


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

(Summer, 2011AD)

Doc jumped while standing in the small kitchenette, nearly gagging on the pills he had to take after lunch, spitting some water out on his white shirt and pale khaki pants. The door to the room slammed shut and a gangly slightly younger man lunged forward and hunched over, panting, dripping wet from the storm outside. "David? Are you alright?" Doc asked with a slightly bemused tone.

David nodded, peeling off a long dull yellow rain jacket and hanging it up on a small hook near the door, the water making an irritating sound on a small plastic mat below as it dripped. "Thanks for letting me borrow your Duncan Macintosh," he said in a cheerful British accent. "I didn't know they made them yellow."

Doc smiled and started to wash the glass of water in the sink. "I always thought yellow was a good color on me."

David Tushingham beamed as he walked over to the small counter, plopping down a small glass bottle. His voice was giddy. "You won't believe this, Jerome," he proudly announced, "but I've discovered something positively _magical_!"

Doc skeptically glanced at the bottle. "If you're trying to imply the bottled water industry is older than previously surmised … I doubt paleontologists will care," he teased.

David blinked a few times before shaking his head. "Don't be silly, Jerome!" He pointed at the bottle. "I took this out of that old tree stump over in Crater Lake – and it started to rain!" He jumped up and down. "Isn't that _remarkable_?" He saw Doc stare at him with a single cocked eyebrow, tapping his foot. "Well … don't look at me like I've gone bloody senile, Jerome!" He paused. "This further supports your hypothesis of strange happenings in the Northeast! What if it's all connected?" he exclaimed, nearly out of breath. "What if there really are such nonsensical things as fairies and such? What if … what if there are entire interdimensional realms just waiting to be explored?" He opened the bottle and stared at the water inside with a wild-eyed expression.

Doc chuckled to himself. He remembered the first day he saw Gobo Fraggle and how magical it had seemed to him. As he continued to think more about it, after the little creature had run back into his hole in the wall, he realized that he had _always_ felt torn away from a sense of magic growing up, and the Fraggle's arrival had merely re-awakened in him a sense of connectedness with other beings. It was like being reborn as your true self.

"I would love to run some tests," he heard David exclaim … though his voice seemed so distant.

Not that he was consistent about that sense of wonder. He had lost his friend Ned in the summer of that very year from, ironically, heat exhaustion, and come Christmas time all he wanted to do was get away from it all … to spend the holidays just by himself and his dog Sprocket. He was getting to be that age where everyone seemed to leave you at some point … though a nagging thought in the back of his head suggested the feeling of losing family stretched far longer than he thought, though he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. All he knew was that, growing up, all he wanted to do was make it on his own … and sometimes he just wanted to be alone. If it hadn't been for Kermit the Frog and his friends, he might never have shaken himself out of his melancholy and bitterness.

"Come on, Jerome, put out your hands," David told him rather sharply, breaking Doc's train of thought.

Doc glanced at the bottle. "David, how is this scientific?" he asked skeptically and somewhat fearful of his friend's new show of excitement, since David had also been feeling wistful and somewhat regretful as he got older.

David shook his head, nearly shoving the bottle towards his older companion. "What has progress ever given men like us except a sense of being passed by?" he retorted. "Not everything in life has to be so bloody thought out, Jerome! Now just _open your hands_!"

As the water poured into Doc's cupped hands, a mist arose. Soon, their vision filled with images superimposed onto the reality of the motel room….

* * *

(59,999,999BC)

"We … can _wait_," Spike hissed, licking his snout hungrily.

Robbie, dressed in a black leather jacket with a Scavengers logo sewed onto his right sleeve and the Rampaging Trilobites logo from his varsity jacket on his back. He was a slightly athletic seventeen-year-old, having spent several months mountain climbing. It was Fall, and as the leaves began to turn, a stiff cold breeze chilled anyone without fur or at least a jacket. "Spike, I thought you disagreed that we should wait."

The slender young human-looking creature clutched at her leg, which was trapped in a steel trap. Her hair was stringy and silver and her skin was red and peeling from being scalded by a geyser about an hour ago. Sheer hatred made her eyes burn.

"Yeah, Spike," Charlene said, nodding. "Make up your mind. Either we eat her or we don't." She adjusted her black leather jacket, made by painting over one of her Aunt Pearl's cowgirl-like jackets and polished her bronze ring against her jacket. She pointed at their victim. "Those cavepeople are up to something."

"_I'm not a cavewoman_!" the human-looking creature screeched angrily. "_I am the Queen of Cups_!"

Scabby snickered. "An' we're the Kings and Queens of All Plastic Dishware!" he laughed. "Get to the point!" He paused for a moment, glancing around to see everyone else having the same jaw-dropping expression on their faces. "Uh … did that thing just _speak_?"

The Queen, Mizumi of Moraine, was furious. She flung one arm towards them, waited for beat or two, then brought back her arm, her face stunned.

Meanwhile, the Scavengers laughed. "What was _that_ supposed to accomplish?" Robbie asked incredulously, shaking his head. "What? Were you going to throw a magic _cup_ at us or something?"

The human-looking woman cringed, gritting her teeth. "My skin is seared. I cannot summon my powers," she noted in shock to herself.

Spike held up his hand to silence his pack. He smiled. "And what kind of powers do you _have_, Talkin' Tina?"

* * *

"Yaaayy!" Baby cheered as the Howlin' J band finished up their song, clapping his chubby little hands. He wore a black fur coat over his yellow shirt. He had decided a couple of months ago not to wear his diaper anymore. He had finally mastered walking, though it was still hard sometimes to find his balance after having grown chubby from rarely moving when he lived at home.

A couple of humans in the back clapped and grunted their approval.

The band had had help setting up their new place, which was basically just a better-looking version of the old Tavern on the Swamp. They had found some generators left behind at the under-construction baseball stadium, so electricity wouldn't be hard to come by for a few years. Fortunately, the humans seemed rather adept at construction … so they had the whole place ready within a month.

Sonny high-fived his father and hopped off the stage and ran over to the table and the make-shift high chair where Baby sat. He jumped up on a seat and poured himself some strange alcoholic drink the humans had made from potatoes. He took a sip and sighed happily. "So, Kid, you liked that song, huh?"

"Yeah!" Baby announced happily. He inhaled deeply and sang a bar from their song. "_Quicksand … sucked my momma down. Giant bugs carried off my wife!_" He started laughing to himself. He noticed Sonny stifling a cough. His face fell. "Sonny still not breathing good?" he asked in a worried tone.

Sonny shrugged, patted his chest, took a sip, and smiled. "Hey, no sweat, Kid. I ain't gonna let no crazy ash storm get me down! It's like I told ya … we're gonna start our _own_ band! We're gonna head all over this valley and rock _everyone's_ socks off!" He paused, chuckling. "If anyone's got socks, that is," he said with a wide grin.

* * *

(Summer, 2011AD)

Doc, as he watched the scenes appear before them within the mist, smiled weakly and wistfully. Ned had always wanted him to join _some_ random group, whether it was that silly Chipmunk order or something else. They hadn't been out of school long before World War Two had started, and that was where he had first met Ned. They saw a little action before being assigned to more engineering-like jobs, repairing weapons and tools and vehicles and such. The European Theater was where they had their first taste of ancient artifacts, falling in love with the idea of discovering really old knick-knacks.

Watching the young dinosaur play and sing with his mammalian friend was almost too close to home for Doc….

* * *

(59,999,999BC)

Pearl knocked some ash and dust off her normally sparkling outfits in front of her RV further along the river, almost to the far western coast. She hummed to herself, thinking about her niece and nephews. She had offered to become a mother to them, but they had, thankfully, refused. Pearl just wasn't the stay-at-home type. She smiled. Earl and Fran had done such a good job raising them that she didn't _need_ to smother them. They were happy finding their own ways in life. Soon, she started hearing deep thumping sounds coming from behind her. After listening for a few minutes, dead still, she realized they were too loud for most carnivores. That left swamp monsters or four-footers. After all, this _was_ their country.

She could soon hear one of her own songs being sung by a booming female voice, albeit a bit more sadly than she had sung the song at the Sinclair household:

_He waved goodbye and threw me out, all I said was fine. Cuz when your ex is a big T-Rex you move on down the line._

_For his big long teeth go chomp.  
Chomp.  
His big long teeth go chomp.  
Uh huh, and his big fat feet go stomp._

_His big fat feet go stomp._

_Chomp.  
Chomp.  
Stomp.  
Stomp.  
Ain't no use in crying, cuz when your ex is a big T-rex you...  
Move on down the line!_

Pearl turned and saw a curious large blue Apatosaurus with thick black lashes and a necklace made of large red stones. They both smiled knowingly.

* * *

(Summer, 2011AD)

Evidently, Doc and David noted, some time had passed, for now it was nearly springtime, with every plant budding. The silver-haired woman, now almost completely healed, save for a blotchy scar here and there on her arms and neck, slinked behind Robbie as he dug out some meat that had been stored underground for the winter. His muscles rippled as he moved, just as his jacket flapped and fluttered in a breeze as it hung on a nearby branch. Robbie looked up and around and caught sight of her, her new form-fitting bright blue robe rippling in the breeze.

She smiled. She looked around. "So, the time has come, has it not?" she asked in a silky voice.

Robbie dropped the carcass he had dug up. "What is _that_ supposed to mean, Mizumi? What's so special about my twenty-first birthday?" He hadn't wanted to just eat her when they found her. He had respect for the simplistic lives of the cavepeople. But this was not some caveperson. She had a predatory look in her eye. In fact, she reminded him of an old myth in the Great Book of Dinosaur that spoke of a conniving two-legger female dinosaur who cut off her four-legger boyfriend's two front legs so that he could be set upon by predators.

Mizumi maintained her smile. "The time has come for new lives to spring forth anew," she replied. She waved her hands around. "All of this is at great risk. Those that come after you will surely destroy this paradise. Why not spare yourselves that fate?"

Robbie scoffed and turned back to his task. Without looking at her, he asked, "What do you propose – _hide the valley_?" He felt her slender hands caress his black and white-striped shirt. He shot a sharp glance at her.

She backed away a couple of steps and laughed. She took out a small glass bottle and held it up to him. "I understand you wished to record your thoughts for posterity," she said. "Perhaps I can aid you in such a noble endeavor. With this I can store every memory you and your family have ever had."

Robbie sighed. "So what?"

Mizumi frowned. "This is not the only hiding place, Robert," she retorted, irritated. "You are a natural leader -- bring dinosaurs to safe haven, and maintain your race's place in history for eternity!" she cooed (rather loudly). She smiled again, nearly sending shivers down Robbie's spine. "Only take my present … and assure your status as alpha male for all time…."

**Author's Note: Song is from Pearl Sinclair of Dinosaurs, not me. Also, yay! We're getting back to the main plot! ;)**


	35. Chapter 35

**Act 4: The Underground Council Comes Back (Final)**

Chapter 35

(Late Summer, 2011AD)

"Don't little frog go to school soon?" asked a deep, gruff voice.

Robin the Frog, about two-thirds the height of his more famous uncle, Kermit, looked up from playing video games in the basement of the Muppet Theater. He saw Sweetums, a large brown hairy monster with a fat lower lip, yellow-tinged eyes under thick black eyebrows, and a ratty brown cloak.

An alarming sound came from the television. Robin whipped back around and madly pushed buttons, but it was too late. His character got flame-broiled and died. Robin shook his head and snapped his fingers. "Aw, _man_," he exclaimed with a youthful yet assertive voice. "I forgot to save, too. Just my luck!" He turned to Sweetums. He tried to hide the irritation and disappointment in his voice. "Actually, I've started taking classes on the internet. That way, when I visit my folks in Florida, I don't have to miss school."

Sweetums stared at the television. "Sweetums make frog lose game?"

Robin smiled. "No, I wasn't doing so hot anyway." He paused, patting the floor beside him. "You wanna play?"

Sweetums shook his head. "Tiny controllers get crushed by Sweetum's big hands," he replied, trying to sound as though it didn't bother him. He was a rather large monster and very strong. Kermit, though, had been the first being to appreciate him as something _more_ than just a heap of muscles. "Sweetums has to build set piece for the show next week." He smirked. "Muppet Theater do play version of _Frog Prince_."

Robin's head leaned back and he sighed, turning back to the television, which mocked him with its "game over" screen. "I wonder whatever happened to that human guy who had to play me," he wondered thoughtfully. He frowned. "I better not need Uncle Kermit to rescue me again, though. I'm a lot bigger and wiser than I used to be."

"Not around flame jets on TV screen," Sweetums teased with a hearty laugh as he turned to head down out of the room. Ever since they first met, he and Robin had stuck together like glue on paper. Robin was just as nice (if not more so) as his uncle and wasn't scared of a large monster that drove away even some adult humans, who were only a few feet shorter than him. Monsters had been maligned all throughout their history, so finding someone who cared for you anyways was a treasure to hold in one's heart forever.

"Just you wait … I've got warts with _your_ name on them!" Robin shot back with a half-smile.

* * *

Oscar the Grouch, a broad-mouthed creature with ratty green fur, leaned against the back of his trash can just outside of 123 Sesame Street, reading a half-shredded, half-stained copy of _Grouch Gazette_, humming cheerfully to himself. A lot of interesting things had been happening in Grouchland lately: there was a new swimming pool filled with sludge installed for grouch youth, wealthy grouches were moving to Naples in droves, a big slimy toad by the name of McMooch had started a neighborhood filthification organization, and the Queen of Trash had left her kingdom for some sort of rare meeting.

He sighed happily. It looked like it was going to be a really _rotten_ season after all.

* * *

On the far edge of a black tar-and-muck-filled swamp sat a small stone cottage, half-eaten with mold, with a small attic underneath a large stone sculpture of a nose, the nostrils of which streamed watery goo into the nearby bog. Inside sat a broad-faced dwarf with grey bushy brows and thick sideburns, wearing a red-tinged purple robe fastened with a circular golden clasp, a blue and gold tunic, black pants, and thick black boots. The only rooms were a small bathroom/kitchenette in the back and the main room which served as a throne room, complete with an aged stone throne with jeweled edges and a large chunk taken out of the top. Flies swarmed to and fro, irritating the dwarf immensely. He had tried to swat them, fumigate them, set them on fire … but they just kept coming. That's what you got when you lived in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his gloom. He told the visitor to enter in a very gravelly voice, made even huskier with age.

"A-_ha_! I knew I would find you here, Hoggle, my good Prince!" enthusiastically shouted Sir Didymus, a brown-grey fox-terrier-like creature with a brightly-colored Royal Guard-like uniform. His riding partner, Ambrosius, a white sheepdog with tinges of grey here and there, followed meekly.

Hoggle snorted in disgust. "Aw, where _else_ did you think I'd be?" Many years ago, a human girl, Sarah Williams, had tried to solve the Labyrinth. In return for rescuing her from a bunch of hyperactive Fireys, she kissed him. King Jareth, in one of his usual humorous moods, made good on his promise to turn him into a prince … by giving him a crown and moving his house to the Bog. Although through the years he's managed to adapt … there were times he _still_ hated her for it.

Sir Didymus shrugged, maintaining his ever-present smile. "Why, with the Goblin King, of course, as he journeys to lands unknown to address the Council!"

Hoggle jumped up, standing only twice the size of the small canine-like creature, and stomped his feet, wringing his hands. "I have to watch this stupid cesspool for the rest of my life!" He grabbed Sir Didymus by the collar of his uniform. "Don't you know anything?" he shouted angrily.

Sir Didymus trembled ever so slightly. "Why," he replied with a less confident voice, "Prince Hoggle … dost thou not remember young Sarah?"

Hoggle threw him to the ground and stomped back to the throne, burying his jaw in his hand. "Why you gotta always bring _her_ up?"

Sir Didymus adjusted his uniform and patted his loyal steed on the back to reassure him. "Her powers of logic were _wondrous_ to behold," he answered with a tone of wonder in his voice. "It was she who figured out the key to respecting my oath."

"So what?" grumbled Hoggle. He _hated_ beings who couldn't just say what needed to get said. Using flowery language or beating around the bush made him feel stupid. It was like when he first met Sarah outside the Labyrinth gate – she clumsily stumbled over every sentence. What was worse, she assumed he was a complete idiot (just like that jerk, Jareth). _She_ was the one who took things for granted. _She_ was the one who got herself dumped into an oubliette dungeon … and yet _she_ forgave _him_! He gritted his teeth. _He_ should have been the one to forgive _her_….

"Hmph! What was the result of yon fair maiden planting a huge wet one on you?" He saw Hoggle stare at him with deadly viciousness. Didymus cleared his throat. "Ahem, well, as I recall, all he told you was he was going to make you a prince. At what point did King Jareth order you to stay here? Did you not attend the ball at the castle, held for Master Toby? Does not even the King leave his Kingdom to address business?"

"And to flirt," Hoggle muttered bitterly, still ruminating over Sarah.

"All beside the point, dear Hoggle," Didymus lectured.

"Wait a minute!" Hoggle interrupted suddenly, a light going off in his head. He turned to Didymus and stood up. "You're tellin' me that since I'm prince I can leave here if I wanna?"

"Well, your position _does_ have its benefits," Sir Didymus replied.

Hoggle jumped over to the small fox-like being and kissed him and headed for the door. Barely turning his head, he cheerfully announced, laughing, "See ya!"

* * *

"Ya know, Marjory," offered a high-pitched street-wise voice, "life's been kinda dull since Juniah Gorg took off for dat meetin'."

"Yeah," replied a slightly deeper though similar voice. "I almost miss da big guy."

Marjory, an oracle created out of a heap of trash, with deep-set eyes and a narrow mouth, nodded. She patted the two rat-like creatures, one pink and one gray, on the head. Her voice was a bit raspy. "I know boys, I know."

The pink one smacked his lips. "Hey, Gunge … ya t'ink we'll get to go on anuddah trip to dat Trash Kingdom? Dey had the _best_ scraps!"

The gray one sighed dreamily. "Maybe, maybe not, Philo … it all depends on good ol' Marjory here."

Marjory chuckled. "Actually, boys, it depends on how the story's written."

Philo and Gunge looked at each other and then at Marjory. "What da heck does _dat_ mean?" they asked loudly.

Marjory shrugged. "Everyone in life has their own path, their own story," she answered defensively.

Gunge sighed. "Great ta know. I was startin' to have existentialist feelin's of havin' no independent purpose, bein' constantly driven by the whims of unknown powahs."

"Me too," Philo muttered back.

Marjory exhaled silently in relief before lowering back into an inanimate heap.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

(Late Summer, 2011AD)

A small black carriage, drawn by six brown horses, rumbled along a cobblestone path early in the morning. Inside sat a woman with golden blonde hair, loosely curling just below her shoulders, wearing a dark blue robe with pink trim over a pale blue low-cut gown. Beside her, holding the reins, sat a taller man with brown hair, wearing a pale beige tunic, accented with a triple-sun bronze medallion, with loose gold-colored material forming a sleeveless robe. The man hummed a medieval tune cheerfully, while the woman smiled as she took in the surroundings. It was such a cool, bright day that morning. The sky was a pure sapphire. The leaves on the forest edge were just beginning to turn, with tinges of red and yellow on the emerald green leaf tips. The air was filled with songbirds' melodies. Nothing could make them happier.

The man glanced at the woman with a grin. "Melora, milady," he asked in a suave voice, "your hair positively shimmers in the sunlight."

Melora smiled warmly. "Why, Prince Robin," she teased in a sweet and innocent voice, "should you not keep your eye on the road?"

Robin kissed her on the cheek. "Does my princess fear ogres and goblins, my love?" He patted his long sword attached to his waist with a leather clasp. "I will charge through any obstacle and battle any foe, just to keep one strand of hair on your head from falling into disarray," he boasted.

Melora laid her head on his shoulder and sighed dreamily. "Ah, Brave Robin, I feel my heart racing with anticipation!"

Robin nodded. Neither of them had stopped grinning for hours, despite how tired their cheeks were becoming. However, life was just so wonderful. They had fallen in love despite all their vexing trials, so nothing could tear them apart. "Would that I had a battle to win, milady. Only then would I be engaged in action that befits my muscles tensing!" He rested his head on hers for a moment. "This shall prove to be a monumental occasion, my love," he said more tenderly. "This council meeting will bring forth a millennium of good fortune for all involved, of that I am quite certain," he announced confidently.

* * *

"Jareth … of all the filthy rotten things you could _ever_ request of me!" screamed a young adult woman with black hair tied into two pigtails, dressed in a crisp navy blue dress with gold trim. Her reddened scar over her left eye was nearly hidden by the redness of her face.

"You _said_ you wished you could be more active on this trip, Moulin," Jareth teased with a deep suave voice. He wore nearly all black save for a pale shirt with a frilly collar. He couldn't help but smile.

"I am _not_ bathing that … that … walking mound of _fur_!" she shot back, jabbing a finger towards Junior Gorg, a two-story tall brown furry creature with a pale bulbous nose and a slight speech impediment. The sentient cloud that was her ever-present companion flew around in circles anxiously, growing darker as a sign of impending rain.

They had stopped to rest some time ago, since Jareth had not wanted to go to the Council along with the two humans or the Queen of Trash. Every time Jareth met the Queen of Trash, she would hassle him about the junkyard surrounding the Labyrinth. _She_ argued that trash outside his kingdom could be rightfully taken by her for repurposing. _He_ claimed he was in charge of _all_ goblins, including those who lived in that junkyard, and it wasn't generous to take away their home. Jareth had a frustrating habit of getting along with no one. Hence, before he had become the Goblin King, he had been known to his critics as Sir Hubris, a fae very strong-willed yet self-obsessed. It was his lack of compassion for those under his care that drove him to give his crown to Gorgous the Great, the first Gorg King (and the first being stupid enough to take the crown). After all, no matter how long or how hard he had worked to please his subjects, they always found something to complain about. Now, here was Junior, a descendant of that very King, who had denied his destiny until his home and his friends were in danger.

"May I say somethin'?" Junior asked timidly, adjusting his fraying purple robe. He had been walking alongside "Sir Hubris" for a couple of days now. The most frustrating thing was how slow they were. Junior could probably have been there by now … if he knew which way to go.

"_No_!" came the simultaneous retort as the argument continued.

Junior frowned and stomped his booted foot just feet away from the five-to-six-foot faes, sending them sprawling to the ground. He smiled as they gawked at him in surprise. His voice was smug. "If kings an' queens can tell uddah kings what to do, den _I_ can tell _you_ to keep yuh stupid mouths _shut_." He wagged a finger at them, smiling. "I don't wanna hear anuddah word outta _either_ of ya."

* * *

A dark-skinned athletic woman with sea-green shoulder-length hair walked into a large hole in the hull of a ship deep in a jungle. Upon entering, she looked around for all types of items that could be useful in her abode, the Trash Kingdom. She wore a pale green dress and a crown made of discarded knick-knacks. Her foot snapped a dusty leg bone from a long-deceased sailor.

"You're different than the rest," a deep gravelly male voice commented dryly. The Queen of Trash's head jerked up to see, deep in the shadows in the stern, a brown-robed figure with a hint of green coming from the worn fabric. "Most of the humans I've seen like to wear browns and grays."

The Queen smiled. "I am Queen of the Trash Kingdom. I come for the Council." She nodded towards him. "And you?"

The other being grunted in surprise. His voice became somewhat younger. "The 'Trash Kingdom' … and you look like _that_?" he asked, his voice betraying the fact he was ogling her. He shook his head, careful not to reveal his face. "I don't mean to be offensive … but you're not what I imagined."

The Queen laughed, kicking away another pile of bones gently. "It appears we have some time to kill. Let's get to know one another then, shall we?"

The robed male figure shrugged. "Are we early?"

The Queen shook her head and shrugged playfully. "Jareth and the others could simply have teleported here. The island isn't _that_ difficult to find." Suddenly, she frowned in confusion. "How did _you_ get here?"

The robed male figure cleared his throat and backed away a few steps. "Uh … actually, I, uh … have great advisors," he stuttered nervously. "Yeah. I, uh … you know, there's a human village nearby with some great TV dinners. Maybe we could go pick up a couple."

The Queen no longer smiled. "Are you that quick to risk letting the humans know of our arrival?"

The male figure sighed. "Look, Miss Queen, ma'am … ever since I've been here it's been nothing but skeletons and jungle and humans with guns and some sonic fence thing and strange hallucinations. I don't think this place is too attached to reality to begin with."


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

(Late Summer, 2011AD)

Jareth sat on the cool grass in front of the palanquin, a multi-legged enchanted vehicle, staring at a small crystal ball. He turned it this way and that, staring at it intently. Thunderous footsteps alerted him to the Gorg's presence.

"What can I do for you, Gorg King?" he asked with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Junior sat down, shrugging, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I wanna ask you a question, Suh Hubwis," he noted with a curious sadness. He waited for a couple of beats and finally sighed, asking, "What was King Gorgous like? I got a pict-yuh of him at home. I got a whole book of legends about _you_, but even _Da Book of Gorgs_ can't help me understand what he was like!" He stared at the small king, who was only half as tall as what the legend says he was. Jareth continued to stare at the crystal ball. Junior sniffed and wiped his nose with a finger. "Uh, what ya lookin' at?"

Jareth sighed, not taking his eyes off. "The crystals show me anything I wish to see," he replied in a low-key voice.

"Come again? No offense, but yo-uh way down there. I got twoubles hearin' ya," pointing at his ears (which were very small and buried in his shaggy fur) with both hands, his facial expression wide-eyed.

Jareth looked up at the behemoth. "I _said_ the crystals show me anything I wish to see!" he bellowed forcefully. "I've been concerned about humans making their way into the Underground, where you and I and many creatures hid to avoid ending our lives at the hands of humanity," he continued bitterly.

Junior stared at "Sir Hubris" for a few moments. Finally, he shrugged, noting casually, "I noticed you guys all have dis pwoblem with human bein's. Surely dey can't be all _dat_ bad. Fwom what I gathuh, you guys have your fa-yuh share of wars and stuff. So, weally, you don't have a lot of woom to talk, do ya?"

Jareth frowned. "Ask your father," he retorted. "He fled from human wars."

Junior smirked smugly, his eyes half-closed. "And if I wecall, _you_ wandahed da univ-uhs twying to flee fwom your own citizens." Junior leaned back, crossing his arms defiantly. "If anyone's a coward …."

"So, you wanted to know about King Gorgous, if I recall?"

Junior nodded with a grin. If he had mastered anything in his five hundred years of life, it was how to pester someone until you got your way.

Jareth sighed, twisting the clear crystal ball until it disappeared. He looked around and saw that Moulin was still napping in the cab of the palanquin. He didn't want her to hear this story. It was … rather sappy for his reputation.

And it was barely true.

However, he had spent a lot of time rehearsing it. Not that he ever expected to return to the Gorgs for any reason at all. The goblins in his kingdom were just a small-scale representation of all the hassles he had had to deal with as King of the Universe. He never wanted to go back to that. He had known, of course, that Junior had thrown away the crown decades ago. Once thrown away, the Queen of Trash had come to the Labyrinth to mock him, for she was fully aware of anything _ever_ thrown away, especially things that had held significance at some point in time. Had one of the Gorgs actually possessed the crown, he was honor-bound to regain his former position. However, the Queen of Trash had a suggestion that came to dwell in his thoughts more than anything else, even Sarah. He looked up at the two-story walking rug and sighed.

_Around what the humans call ten-thousand years BC, at an age when glaciers receded, scouring and flooding the land with water, caves and tunnels were located by various human tribes obsessed with them, from the Azilian who painted pebbles to the Magdalenians, who painted cave walls in order to attract a connection to what became known as the Underground. Back then humans were still relatively harmless, barely scraping together a living. There were larger mammals much more dangerous to them, such as mammoths and saber-toothed cats … and large humanoid hairy creatures. I had been King of the Universe for only about a century or so, but I despised it. My court was filled with creatures of every sort and they all nagged me to attend to their every need._

_I loathed being their superior yet given all the work._

_Despite my responsibilities, I began to take long trips. Whenever I returned, my court only wailed longer and louder. They could never be pleased. So, I decided I would give my crown to the most deserving … or the most stupid, as the case may be. I truly felt that only the most brain-dead lummox would ever desire to serve those needy, whiny buffoons._

_Anyway, six approached at my behest to contest the crown. A capcaun, which was a sort of dog-headed ogre, offered to spend eternity bringing me children to be my heirs._

_A small clurichaun, a broad-faced humanoid only about a couple of feet tall, offered a flask of unending wine that he had found … from my own cellar (can you imagine the GALL?)!_

_Some giant, someone bigger than even you, from an eastern island chain … Dai … botchi-something … it doesn't matter. At any rate, this creature offered to teach me how to mold the land to my liking._

_One of my favorites, an avian being with the upper half resembling a young woman, offered to fly me to a magical dimension and provide a sacred song. Kinnara, if I recall…._

"Yo-yuh dwooling," Junior commented dryly, clearing his throat. Jareth blushed and nodded.

_There was this vampire. I forgot what he wanted._

_Finally, a sphinx showed up, offering me all the best riddles in the universe._

_Well, I wasn't impressed. I was the KING OF THE UNIVERSE! I already HAD everything!_

_After many months I had nearly decided to let the world burn. I was fed up. They were so needy and shrill and I just couldn't stand being around them anymore. One night, a young Gorg stumbled into my small garden, wanting to eat the vegetables that grew there. At the time, there had been many large humanoids running around the planet, and Gorgs were related to them distantly. At any rate, he forsook offers of gold, offers of power, and offers of fame. He had simple needs. He denied my offer of the crown._

_That was the last straw. I decided I would take my own life than have to face yet another day as King of the Universe. When I told him as much, he offered to take the crown._

"_I will take the crown," he said. "For every being deserves to have a full tummy and a smile on their face. It is sad you cannot find such things. You need the opportunity to find them."_

"And that, young Gorg," Jareth told him with a sigh, "was the sign of someone truly great. He knew that _I_ needed things. My station in life did not immunize me from the trials of life. He did not minimize my feelings. And so, this accidental seventh contestant made my path clear. I gave him the crown and offered to take it back from him when I had discovered what I needed."

Junior sat with a slack jaw and wide eyes. In the far edge of his peripheral vision, he noticed Moulin with a single open eye. However, he didn't acknowledge her eavesdropping. "And what is it you need?"

Jareth smiled briefly.

Moulin sat cross-legged in the cab of the palanquin as Jareth started to climb up the steps. She smirked. "So, where is this island?" She chuckled. "Come now, Goblin King … where are these evil humans going to start their invasion?"

Jareth frowned.

She had heard him.

Moulin smiled and leaned back, sighing. "Goblin King, Goblin King," she teased dramatically, "take thy whining far away from me! For the sun rises and sets and forever do I fret, that mere humans will dare to blast open my bedroom door … and my nights of adventure shall be no more!"

Jareth crossed his arms in indignation, gritting his teeth. "Are you quite finished, then?"

Moulin laughed. "Never before and never again do I hope to see, a Goblin King afraid of humanity!"

Jareth glared at her, his teeth threatening to crack. He pointed angrily at her, though his voice stayed steady. "They chased us to the Underground --."

"You _fled_, as I recall."

"Their weapons present a danger to us all," he retorted, though he shuddered at the unintentional rhyme.

Moulin had had enough. She stood up and stomped her foot on the floor of the palanquin. She grinned sarcastically, turning her palms up as though juggling invisible objects, mocking him, "Why nuclear weapons versus magic: hm, whatever could prove to be more powerful, the destruction of cities or the transformation of their entire little world?" She pointed and sneered at Junior. "The Gorg King had a point, you know: there is nothing those silly creatures can do that we can't do better."

Jareth smirked, leaning back slightly. "So, you ache to go to war, then?"

Junior gawked at the two as they talked. War? Junior hadn't even packed another set of clothes for his trip! He didn't bring even a shield! He thought his _father_ had been absorbed with bravado and baseless self-promotion. He had no idea it was rampant throughout the universe. How did the universe ever live so long, if all its inhabitants were chomping at the bit to hack into everyone else?

And what was a "nuclear" weapon?

Junior stroked his chin for a few moments. Maybe, just maybe, it was a "new clear" weapon … maybe a weapon designed to turn creatures invisible had just been invented! He shuddered. The last time he and his family had run out of radish cream, they had started to turn invisible. It was … shocking … to say the least. Junior felt his pulse race.

"I don't want to be invisible!" he cried, sobbing.

Moulin and Jareth turned to stare up at him. Moulin shook her head. "What are you talking about?" All Junior could do through his sobs was repeat the same statement over and over. Moulin nodded at her cloud companion, who flew up to Junior's face and zapped him with lightning and sprayed his face with torrents of water. Junior stopped blubbering and gawked cross-eyed at the close cloud, which smirked at him before flying back to its mistress. "Snap out of it, you'll smell like a wet dog!" Moulin barked. "Then we'll have nothing more to do with you. I am _not_ travelling downwind of a creature in need of hygiene classes!"

Junior sniffled, wiping his face with his robe.

"You'll be travelling nowhere," announced a strange female voice. Everyone turned to see the Queen of Trash standing haughtily next to a robed figure roughly two feet taller than she. The Queen of Trash crossed her arms and glared at Jareth. "You summoned us and then went back on your word, Goblin King," she proclaimed loudly with an accusatory tone. "You had no intention of having a meeting at that island."

Eyes turned to Jareth, who showed no signs of backing down or sheepishness. "No," he replied curtly.

Jareth felt himself kicked off the palanquin. He smacked the ground face-first, getting dirt and grass in his teeth. He turned to see Moulin standing over him, her fists clenched, her face tightly drawn into a scowl. "You weren't going to the island at _all_?" she shrieked. "Name your intentions, Goblin King! What was all this … some _bonding_ experience?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Jareth retorted angrily, spitting out some dirt. He gingerly retreated from Moulin and stood to face the Queen of Trash. "I summoned everyone to a Council meeting … but I gave everyone different directions," he informed the new companions matter-of-factly. "The location is not nearly as important as the information." He stared at her expectantly.

The Queen of Trash sighed. "You've been watching too much television," she replied, putting her hand on her hip, rolling her eyes.

"And there's this movie about this fight between a misunderstood demon and a fairy prince bent on destroying humans," offered the young male voice behind the thick brown robe, a pair of red and white sneakers peeking through the thick fabric near the ground.

Everyone stared at him. The robed figure shrugged. "It's just déjà vu, that's all I'm implying," he noted submissively, rubbing his clasped hands together, careful to keep his hands hidden.

The Queen of Trash glanced at him with a look of curious bemusement. "Since when do you watch movies?"

The robed figure turned to her. "Don't you?"

The queen sighed and shook her head. "I rule the Trash Kingdom … I get everything people and grouches alike throw away. So, yes, I have access to modern electronics."

"Um," Junior began with a forceful yet submissive voice. "I don't wanna fight no one, if it's all da same to you," he said, shrugging, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"You would risk the fate of your kingdom because you don't want to take up your sword?" Jareth sneered.

Junior shook his head. "I took my cwown back to save my Fwaggle friends," he replied proudly. "Someone was comin' to hurt them all." He pointed at Jareth. "What _you_ want is completely different. You want us to join you to go to Outer Space and thump them all where dey live. You're actin' like dey _all_ are our enemies!" He crossed his arms in defiance, not noticing his speech clearing. "I refuse to fight! Madame Trash Heap would have told me if humans were a danger to my kingdom. If they were all so bad, they woulda taken _themselves_ out by now! Humans have been around a long time … and they're … all … still … here! That can only mean that the desire to live is stronger than the desire to die. I will _defend_ my kingdom … but I refuse to fight creatures who have not tried to hurt me."

"That was a powerful speech," the robed figure replied in awe, sliding his hood back … over his green snout, his spiky Mohawk made of long scales, and three small ridges on each side of his head. His eyes were youthful, like Junior's … a sense of wide-eyed wonder filled them with a certain brightness. He had several small scars forming bite marks on his neck and a couple of his scales were missing here and there. He placed a scaly green hand on his chest. "That's _exactly_ how I felt growing up, Mr. Gorg, sir," he continued, craning his neck. "I had the misfortune to take part in war … and I had to learn the hard way that they always start over something that could have been handled better had everyone just stopped to think."

Junior nodded thoughtfully. "Swords look better on my Pa's mantle."

Moulin gawked at the reptilian robed creature. "I read that your kind disappeared millennia ago."

He glanced at her and shrugged. "Well, it was a long story."

"You seem to have aged little," Moulin probed. "What are you called?"

He flashed a grin and held out his hand. "Robert. Robert Mark Sinclair. I am Chief Elder of the Pangaeans that inhabit Sinclair City."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

(Late Summer, 2011AD)

"Okay! I think we've taken a close enough look!" yelled Robert Sinclair as he squirmed in the big furry hand of Junior Gorg. He couldn't help having flashbacks to that time when he went with his father to a swamp to "learn about the food chain" … and promptly got eaten by a monstrous swamp monster. Had it not been for some quick thinking, making the swamp monster sick with lovey-dovey talk, he would have died a horribly slow death.

Junior chuckled. "You gotta be the _biggest_ lizard I ever saw!" He gently set Robert back down, patting the young adult dinosaur on the head.

Robbie twitched his tail in irritation. "I'm not the biggest dinosaur, you know." It had been several years since he had allowed himself to be humiliated like that.

Junior shrugged. "Most lizards 'round our castle aren't even half your size," he noted with amusement. "Can I keep you around our house?" he asked with a childlike enthusiasm.

"Uh … _no_," Robbie replied, as though he had been asked to have his tail chopped off.

Junior shrugged and started to walk away. They had all been travelling toward a distant mountain chain in the southwest of the Underground (though directions were rather relative, considering how easily space and time could be altered). They would try to catch up to Prince Robin and Princess Melora in a couple of days, the beginning of autumn.

Robbie cupped his hand in front of his snout and whispered to the Queen of Trash, who walked alongside him, "Is that guy _always_ like that?"

The Queen of Trash shrugged. "I don't have a lot of experience with Gorgs," she replied bitterly. She didn't like having to walk, particularly since it was all Jareth's idea … though Jareth had decided to fly off as an owl … to avoid Moulin. Yet again, they could have teleported to those two human royals … but Jareth insisted on doing things the long (and irritatingly inefficient) way. "Gorgs keep to themselves, mostly." She glanced at the dinosaur. "Just how old are you? You seem rather young for a ruler."

"I turned twenty-three last month," Robbie replied. He stared at the ground as they walked. "I've been Chief Elder for," he continued, changing to a more subdued tone, "a … awhile."

"Do you have any family?" the Queen of Trash asked in a bored-yet-polite tone.

Robbie hesitated for several minutes. "A sister," he mumbled.

The Queen of Trash glanced at Robbie thoughtfully, noticing his sad expression. "I apologize for prodding," she said with increased sincerity. "I suppose your kind suffered many losses, am I correct?"

Robbie nodded. "Yeah." He looked at her at last. "What that Jareth guy said, about humans being cruel and all … he doesn't realize that they never caused _us_ any real problems. We caused our _own_ destruction." He shrugged. "I wonder why he has such a big thing about them."

She smiled and patted her reptilian companion on the shoulder. "Jareth likes to hole himself up when he doesn't get his way. When he started as the Goblin King, a powerful fae desired him. She only desired him for his strong will and powerful magic. Jareth has a tendency to consider himself deserving of much more than partnership. He built a large living labyrinth to keep everyone out." She shook her head. "Jareth hides when he feels intimidated. They didn't call him 'Sir Hubris' for nothing, you know. He puffs himself up to make him appear more important than he is."

Robbie gave a half-smile, half-frown. "Sounds like Mr. Richfield," he replied. "Mr. Richfield caused the death of the whole planet, for just several hundred million bucks." Robbie grinned and elbowed her. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to be that ex-girlfriend, would you?" he snickered.

The Queen of Trash rolled her eyes.

_The small elderly dwarf shuffled toward the dark-skinned athletic female at dawn by the large gate that led to the newly created labyrinth. He slung a large black pesticide instrument over his shoulder and adjusted his red leather cap. "So, who are you?" he asked gruffly._

"_Please inform the King that I wish to speak to him," she replied in a professional tone._

_The dwarf reared his head back and smiled. "Not until you answer my question," he retorted._

_She sighed. "I am Eshe. I bring life. I offer my assistance to the Goblin King."_

_He patted his chest. "Well, I am Hoggle … and I say no one gets in the Labyrinth but me," he chuckled._

_Eshe smiled. "Does the King know you hinder his rule?" she asked, bending down to bring her face closer to his._

_Hoggle shrugged. "And you could tell him that yourself … IF … I lets you in. However," he continued proudly, "I'm not in the charitable mood this morning."_

_Eshe stroked Hoggle's broad chin, making him whimper nervously. "Hoggle … I'm certain moods can change," she offered seductively. She dangled a small red velvet pouch in front of him. It made a noise like chinking coins. She emptied the pouch into one of his large outstretched hands, showing him bright sparkling jewels. He stared at the pile in complete awe. In fact, the large brick walls of the labyrinth could have fallen on him and he wouldn't have noticed. Eshe stroked his graying hair. "Open the door to the Labyrinth, Hoggle."_

"So, basically," Robbie interrupted, "you seduced and manipulated him in order to see the king."

"Typical," Moulin interjected from the palanquin. "You and Jareth truly deserved each other, Trash Queen." She glanced icily at the glaring queen. "At least my mother was honest in her intentions. She admitted no ethical problems with tricking other beings."

"What makes you think I thought so little of that tiny, wretched dwarf?" the Queen of Trash protested honestly.

Robbie turned his head back and forth between the two quarreling females, his heart racing and his breathing shallowing instinctively. Had he been with his fellow dinosaurs, blood would be shed in about five minutes, the way these two females were snarling at each other.

Moulin sneered. "You played him like a fiddle. For all your whining about being compassionate and seeing things in an optimistic point of view, you are just as callous and selfish as we are." She huffed angrily. "You're no different than his current fling," she griped. "I recall that his human flirt had the same solution … toying with males to get her way."

"Don't project your own ethical sensibilities onto me, little girl," the Trash Queen snarled.

Moulin smirked. "Oh? And how did you help that little red thing again? Forced him to wear out his tongue giving you raspberries? What was _that_ all about? Were you out of water and needed all that spit?" She laughed. "I could have sent you some water if you were that desperate. You needn't toy with a mere toddler just because you were bored and needed something to do."

* * *

Hoggle glanced around at the near-white ballroom, decorated with multi-colored curtains and sparkles and golden chandeliers. The ballroom was located deep within the castle. He had only been there a couple of times, the latest being that ball held for Sarah's brother.

The thought of Sarah made him growl quietly to himself.

All his life, Hoggle had been the butt of goblin jokes. He was disrespected every chance they got. He wasn't a reptilian or amphibian or avian-looking creature, so they mocked him relentlessly. In fact, he was pretty sure Sir Didymus was the only mammalian inhabitant that got any kind of respect, and _that_ was only due to his amusing constant state of denial of his own talents.

Well, and the Fierys … but no one in their right mind would agree to be friends with _them_.

And no one besides Toby _ever_ got his name right on the first try.

He looked at a small female figurine from a music box he found in a pile of rubble. He caressed it in his large fat fingers. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, and started to sing sadly:

_There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;_

_There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;_

_And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb._

_There's a fine, fine line between love_

_And a waste of time._

_There's a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie;_

_And there's a fine, fine line between "You're wonderful" and "Goodbye."_

He started to choke up. When Sarah was trapped in her crystalline dream, wearing the finest white gown ever imagined by a fairy-tale obsessed girl, she mindlessly wandered among the various costumed dancers. Unlike the Fierys, who had tried to tear her apart, these dancers merely gossiped and laughed at her … for she was but a girl trying to pretend to be someone she wasn't. However, Jareth was there, so confident in his powers of seduction that he purposely refrained from dancing with her at the beginning. He wanted her to come to _him._

On the other hand, Sarah kept spying a tall thin dancer with a tri-corner brown hat, long white hair, wearing a long-snouted white skull mask. While this dancer danced with the others, he kept his wary eyes on her and her alone. He didn't laugh at her. He didn't try to dance so closely to her that their bodies threatened to merge.

The look of fear in her face when she spied him, the way Jareth soothed her in dance … it was enough to convince Hoggle he would be alone forever.

_I guess if someone doesn't love you back it isn't such a crime,_

_But there's a fine, fine line between love_

_And a waste of your time._

**Author's Note: Song is "A Fine, Fine Line" from Avenue Q. God, I loved that play. It was AWESOME.**


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

(Fall, 2011AD)

Robin the Frog sat on the edge of a very large nest, sighing. It was a shoddily enclosed space, with old broken doors forming a kind of fence for privacy. His uncle, Kermit, had to help with a small neighborhood play. Robin sighed again. Ever since Miss Piggy decided to date some creep named Nicky Holiday, Kermit had involved himself more often at Sesame Street and the swamp down in Florida. He buried himself in work to keep from thinking about her.

Robin broke off a large twig and chewed on it wistfully. Gonzo had Camilla. Floyd had Janice. Those two old guys had wives. Heck, even _Skeeter_ finally found someone to her liking … and he was more than a match for her, from what he'd heard.

Robin never had anyone. There had been the odd guest star who treated him well … but it wasn't the same. They took pity on him as the small kid, like someone would treat the dozens of residents of this particular neighborhood. He knew there were lots of children here, and Kermit had offered to let him stay in school here … but Robin didn't like to think of himself as a toddler. He liked hanging around the theater, where there were others who … who … could get through a simple conversation without turning it into a public service message or a Powerpoint presentation for class.

Then Kermit had to bring up _The Frog Prince_ again. It was like his uncle was _spitefully_ bringing up a sore point that Robin had had ever since he'd been younger. Sure, he wasn't as old as Kermit (how could he?), but though "Muppets", as they had become known, aged more slowly than "normal" animals, Robin still didn't see himself as a child anymore. He'd probably get along with ten-to-fourteen-year-old humans.

Despite being an _older_ child, Robin resented that play more than anything. It was a good starting-off point for him, but the message irritated him to no end.

_Why can't a frog have a beautiful princess at the end_?

Surely humans weren't still so prejudiced to believe that frogs gave people warts. Robin had wanted his character to be loved, regardless of his looks. But, no … Kermit insisted that humans would only watch a play that left the lovers human at the end. It was only after much prodding seven years later that Ms. Warren could turn into a "beast" to turn a tale on its head.

Robin slyly smirked. Though uncredited, _he_ finally got his wish with a certain screwy fairy tale by Dreamworks. _That_ was the message he wanted to spread … that a message of tolerance was being tossed aside by "curing" the enchanted of their problems. It didn't work that way in real life! In real life, those who were different _stayed_ different. At least, that's what he told that Myers guy.

"I'm awfully sorry, did I interrupt you?" Robin heard a very young male voice ask timidly. He looked up (way up) to see a tall yellow bird with the expression of a curious and eager child.

"No, no," Robin replied happily, shrugging. "This is _your_ nest, Big Bird. I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay here. Did you get to see Snuffy today?"

Big Bird laughed and closed the door behind him. He turned back to Robin. "Yeah, I managed to find him in Central Park. He was going for a walk with Alice," he announced cheerfully. "I walked with them for awhile and then we all got ice cream!" He paused, lowering his head suddenly in shame. "Gosh, I should have brought _you_ some…."

Robin shook his head. "Oh no, that's okay. You don't have to."

"But you rarely come over to Sesame Street," Big Bird protested. "I have to be a good host." His face brightened back up. "Your uncle is one my most favorite friends. It seems like we've known each other _forever_," he exclaimed, his eyes getting wide, like he had just found a really lucky penny on a sidewalk.

Robin cleared his throat. He couldn't _believe_ he was going to ask him this: "Big Bird," he asked hesitantly, trying to come up with an effective way to ask it, "do you have any special friends?"

Big Bird nodded enthusiastically. "Oh _yes_!" he exclaimed. He started to count on his fingers, "I'm friends with Susan and Gordon and Telly and Kermit and Bert and Ernie and … even Oscar … and --."

"—No," Robin interrupted, trying to wave him down. "I mean, do you … have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Big Bird's eyes widened and his beak went slack. "_I'm six years old_!" You might as well have told him that his feathers were plaid.

Robin bit his lower lip. "Since the eighties!" he protested. "You're older than _I_ am!"

Big Bird shrugged and shook his head. "And _why_ can't I be six?" he asked expectantly. "_I_ like me for who I am, Robin. Snuffy likes me. Maria likes me. Abby likes me." He sat down on the edge of his nest and put a hand behind Robin's back. His tone quieted. "Robin, have you been lonely lately? Is that why you're acting this way?" He patted Robin gently on the back. "I know what it's like to be lonely, sometimes. Sometimes my friends have to go away or stay home and I can't see them and it makes me very sad." Big Bird shrugged. "Besides, I'm not the Count, you know. I don't have to count _every … single … year_ just because they happen. Bob told me that sometimes you're as old as you feel. I feel six. It's my favorite number so far." He inhaled deeply with a burst of inspiration. "Did you know that six is half of a dozen?" he asked Robin excitedly.

Robin cracked a small smile. "Yeah, that's what I've heard." He hesitated. He felt like a heel for criticizing one of his uncle's best friends. Big Bird had been through a lot over the decades: he lost his store-owner friend of his, he had to face the relentless unbelief regarding his mammoth-like friend Snuffy, he got manipulated into giving himself up for adoption, and his nest was blown away in a hurricane. He leaned against Big Bird. "Thanks," he said finally, "Big Bird. You always … know the right thing to say." He looked up and saw a compassionate smile wash over the large bird's beak.

Was it such a problem that he felt out of place with those who were supposedly like him?

_

* * *

They call me Prince Robin, the Brave!_

_And history one day will rave!_

_I'm valiant, and daring, and noble of bearing,_

_courageous and gallant ... a mountain of talent!_

_No wonder folks curtsy and wave!_

_I'm Robin, Prince Robin, the brave!_

Prince Robin, who had once been enchanted and turned into a frog by the wicked witch Taminella, sang happily as he and his wife Princess Melora sat lazily by a bubbling brook on the edge of a forest surrounded by large, rocky mountains. Princess Melora sighed dreamily as she laid her head on his shoulders.

"Oh, Prince Robin, it is so lush and green here," Melora remarked cheerfully. She waved her arms. "Look all around, my great Prince … we could build a splendid castle right over there. I'm sure Daddy would lend us workers for building." She licked her lips and adjusted her dress as she tried to bend over to cup her hands into the brook to drink. She had to wipe her long blonde hair away. Just as she brought the water to her lips, a pebble hit her in the head. She dropped the water and Robin, his face full of shock, jumped up briskly and unsheathed his sword. He glanced this way and that … and saw a tall blue-purple reptilian with numerous small spikes on his triangular head and large horn-like spikes breaking out of a rough-looking black leather jacket, wearing a bright red bandanna on his head and a pair of chain-accessorized black leather boots.

The creature smirked. "I wouldn't drink the water," he hissed. He patted his stomach with his left hand. "Bad for digestion."

"Name yourself, knave!" ordered the young Prince boldly. "I will not allow anyone to attack the fair Princess!"

The creature chuckled and nodded sarcastically. "Of course, of course … I understand." His face brightened. "Still, after all, I didn't know if you cave rats could understand speech."

Melora patted down her gown as she stood and rubbed the back of her head briefly.

"I asked your _name_," continued Prince Robin more forcefully, pointing his sword at this new foe.

The creature put up both hands in a placating gesture. "Keep your boots on, Tiny," he said. "I'm known as Spike." He shrugged. "A little derivative, to be sure … but, all these natural accessories are more than a match for your little knife."

"Be ever so certain … I have slain many dragons in my lifetime!" the human prince boasted.

Spike grinned. "Anybody can beat one o' dose t'ings," he replied dismissively. "Just get 'em to hiccup when they're blowin' fire an' BAM … dey get heartburn somethin' awful and down dey go."

Melora grabbed hold of Robin's sword arm and gently pulled it down. She looked at the reptilian. "Sir Spike, am I to understand that you attempted to save us from a cruel fate?"

Robin looked at Melora in surprise.

Spike nodded.

Melora approached Spike cautiously, speaking in a calming voice. She didn't want to engage in battle. This creature seemed every bit just as brave and certain as her husband … and the creature certainly looked stronger. "We would like to thank you, kind sir," she continued. "We are strangers in this land and have come to assist in any way we can."

Spike stared at the human female with some amusement. She wasn't like that other one. This one was as naïve as Scooter used to be. He smirked half-politely. He needed assistance. However, he didn't know who he could trust. Everything had taken such a downturn over the last seven years or so. Finally, he managed to speak. "You got anyone else comin' wit' ya?"

Melora nodded slowly and smiled. "Yes … from my understanding, there are six of us total." She placed her hand gently on his jacket and continued to smile warmly, not noticing the jerky twitches from his tail. "Do not concern yourself. We have heard of the trials ahead. We welcome any opportunity to assist those in need."

Spike grit his teeth, trying to keep from reacting to this … _cave rat_ … touching his jacket. Get ahold of yourself, he thought silently. You need to at least sucker these guys into putting themselves in the line of fire first. As sickeningly sweet and nice as they are … shouldn't be too hard….

* * *

A middle-aged Caucasian woman with dark brown hair sat sleeping in a theater seat with her feet propped up. She had a gentle smile on her face, as she had been dreaming of the play she had written roughly three years back. She had even managed to get a Tony Award for her story of a distressed king who had to accept responsibility in the face of nearly hopeless obstacles.

She felt a lone finger stroking her hair. She slowly opened her eyes to see Jareth, in his now customary disguise of a black pin-striped suit and slicked-back blond hair tied up into a ponytail and dark sunglasses to hide his eye markings.

"Hello, Sarah," he told her suavely, with a hint of a smile. He gazed down at some popcorn in his hand. "Do you want some?"

Sarah grunted with amusement and sat up, yawning. She looked at the popcorn and then at him. "I've already had a nice nap, thanks," she replied in a teasing tone. When she had first traveled through his labyrinth, Hoggle had given her a peach from Jareth, one which left her in a strange dream-like state where he tempted her with fairy-tale frivolity and romance. She had the contrasting images of his smile while she fell for him and his grimace when she broke free burned into her memory. Though she had forgiven them both, she wanted Jareth to realize he could not play the same trick twice.

Jareth frowned momentarily, but recovered with a grin. "Sarah … if this popcorn has any potential to harm you … I would suggest taking that up with your own suppliers."

Sarah sighed and popped a few in her mouth. She let them remain there for several moments (to taste them fully) before swallowing. The kernels seemed fresh, warm and salty and buttery. He must have made some in the lobby while she slept in the seating area of the theater.

Jareth frowned again. "You still didn't trust me?"

Sarah smiled. "Only a fool would assume you were harmless."

Jareth pulled away. "Sarah," he retorted bitterly, "I grow so tired of these games. You see me as something, and when I try to comply with your every wish … you act as though it's all _my_ fault." He glared at her, pleadingly. "What is it that you want from me?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and stood. "Jareth," she answered in a lecturing tone, "stop taking everything as an insult." She pointed at him accusatorily. "_You_ act a certain way and then want to blame _me_ for your own shortcomings." She shook her head. "This isn't about my wishes. I'm trying to accept who and what you are. If you don't like what you are, don't come blaming me. That may have worked when I was a teenager but I'm older and wiser." Her voice started to rise. "I know you guys don't age as fast as we _mere mortals _do, but you'd think after several thousand years, you'd be able to act like a grown man."

The silence stretched on for minutes. Jareth could barely keep his eyes on her. They had been through this argument several times over the last decade or so. Finally, he spoke in a beaten tone. "I have done as you requested. I have left you to live your life here, though _why_ I can't understand --."

"Can _you_ turn your back on your kingdom?" Sarah asked defiantly.

Jareth quickly stood and said forcefully, "In a _heartbeat_, Sarah – I would risk the destruction of the _entire_ Underground itself to be in your arms for all eternity."

Sarah stood wide-eyed, shaking her head slightly. "All those creatures depend on you, Jareth. You can't just --."

"_Yes_, I can … that's the whole _point_," he said, cutting her short. "I admit I have my responsibilities --."

"So, there we go, 'progress'," she sniped sarcastically, crossing her arms.

He sighed. "_However_, if it means never seeing you --."

Sarah put her hand up to shut him up. "Jareth, stop. Whenever I think of you, you show up. You've probably been spying on me with those crystal balls of yours when you're _not_ here. It's not like we don't interact. Stop acting like a petulant child. You told me you wanted us to be equals … but every chance you get, you gripe and moan and complain when I don't cater to your every whim."

"I cater to _yours_," Jareth sulked, avoiding Sarah's eyes.

Sarah looked away. "You said you loved that my will was as strong as yours …."

Jareth snorted. His tone remained acidic. "_Mizumi's_ will matched mine."

Sarah huffed. "Then why didn't you go with _her_?"

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Sarah, I have been willing to put aside my feelings to give you everything your heart desires." He looked at her painfully. "I have been accused of excessive hubris since before your race created the first cities. 'I move the stars for no one.' For all the flak I get about my selfishness, I find it frustrating that no one cares about my needs at all! _Everyone_ puts their own needs ahead of mine – even you!" His voice rose as he got angrier. "How am _I_ the selfish one, Sarah? Is it because I _dare_ ask you to take a few years off to live in my castle … to roam the countryside of the Underground? Heaven _forbid_ Sarah Williams skips a paycheck! I mean, it's not like I wouldn't 'arrange' for her rent to be paid during her absence!"

"I want to stand on _my … own … two … feet_!" Sarah barked back.

"And _why_ can't you stand on your own two feet _by … my … side_?" he snapped at her. His mouth closed and his eyes widened as a flash of inspiration hit him, square in the gut. "This is about your mother!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

Sarah gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. "Don't you _dare_ bring up my mother, Jareth!"

Jareth nodded as though all the mysteries of the universe were now suddenly crystal clear. "Yes, it is … this is about your fears of ending up like her – chasing every flitting dream and dumping her life on someone else's doorstep!"

"Shut … up," Sarah growled. Tears started welling up in her eyes and her voice started to waiver. "You have no right --."

"To suggest the obvious?" he asked haughtily. "You fear loving me because you fear being seen as some star-struck groupie who starved herself to death on the promise of love and glory," he announced confidently. He stared at the young woman who had started to cry. He pointed toward himself. "I have grown since meeting you and young Toby," he told her in a calmer, sadder tone. "My heart opened and yearned for you. Despite all the setbacks you've caused me … I learned from them. I thought that if I consented to 'wait' for you, you would make the same sacrifices I wanted to make for you." He paused for a few moments. "I may be selfish. I may want you to fulfill _my_ dreams … but don't pretend that I am so selfish I would rather keep my kingdom than love you. I would throw it all away. Am I _not_ selfless?"

Sarah glanced past him slightly and gasped. Her heart skipped a couple of beats, but she was almost relieved that something … _anything_ … interrupted this rehashed spat of theirs. He always seemed so stuck on himself, she thought. He claimed everyone was blind to _his_ needs … but … he … didn't … he didn't realize the real reason bringing up her mother upset her: she had passed away. Fortunately, she and Sarah had made amends regarding the past. Her mother had become star-struck about a male co-star and had run away with him, leaving Sarah alone with her father and her step-mother. For years she resented it. However, ever since she had spoken to that little blue Fraggle, Boober, she had tried to heal old wounds, for she realized that others needed her just as much as she needed others. She couldn't just tell Jareth, though … he, with all his powers that he loved to talk about, should know, shouldn't he?

Jareth turned quickly and spotted a large male with a scarred white bald head with his lips sewn shut, standing next to a large lion-like creature comprised completely of water.

The male bowed and spoke despite his ever-closed mouth. "King Jareth of the Goblin Kingdom," he said, "I come to inform you that my mistress has nearly arrived by palanquin to the edge of the valley, along with the lizard and Gorg and Trash Queen." He stood erect and smirked. "They are, as yet, currently unaware of the reasons behind your numerous absences." He paused, shooting a quick glance at Sarah. "However, it is quite clear the _real_ reason you declared war on humanity. Should it come to light that you would force the entire world to fall down for the sake of a mere _girl_ …."

"Perhaps it will come to pass that Queen Moulin will need a new _bodyguard_, Esker," Jareth growled with clenched teeth, "one that takes the _first_ hint about keeping one's mouth shut. I seem to recall you have difficulty accepting that requirement from me."

"What do you mean, 'declared war on humanity'?" Sarah asked the newcomer with a tinge of panic in her voice.

Esker smirked again. He had kept his suspicions about Jareth's whereabouts to himself. He wanted Moulin to go along on that journey. She would have returned home in a huff had she known he was meeting his human girlfriend. Despite his dislike of Moulin, at least _she_ understood the necessity to act like a queen, despite her wistful pangs of long-distance love. Also, humans _had_ presented a real (albeit small) risk to the Underground. However, the dimension known as the Underground was filled with beings with more power in their little fingers than humans could ever hope to achieve in their wildest dreams. So, he had gone along with Jareth's version of events, until they got closer to the valley that had mysteriously appeared two years ago. Soon, they would face the one being who had ever appreciated him fully. Moulin, graceful and intelligent as she was, did not permit him the same … _benefits_ … that Mizumi had. That was a judgment error he was all too willing to correct. He looked at Jareth and shrugged. "There are cards in play of which my mistress is completely unaware, King Jareth." He pointed at Sarah. "You risk losing everything just so some _tiny mortal human girl_ will kiss you," he sneered triumphantly.

"_Stop … insulting … Sarah_," Jareth warned him in a deadly tone.

"Hey!" barked Sarah loudly. "What is this about declaring war on humanity?" She could feel her heart race a mile a minute. Her eyes threatened to pop out of her head. It felt as though her lungs were on fire. So much had happened during the last decade or so, especially in New York. Would Jareth really snap like that? She certainly hadn't _wished_ it!

Esker glanced quickly at Sarah. "Isn't it obvious? You would not join him for the sake of your duties here. If those duties were to disapp--." Esker's voice cracked as his eyes widened, his face tensing in pain. Small crystals started to jut out from all over his body, until soon there was nothing left but a spiky pillar of pure white crystal. The water-lion, meanwhile, faded from view, whimpering, its tail between its legs.

Jareth smirked. It would have sent below-zero shivers down anyone's spine. He turned his head slightly, stepping forward towards the pillar. He spoke to her in a condescending tone, "Sarah, I must be leaving. Perhaps you could use that as a prop in your play."

**Author's Note: Prince Robin sings his theme from The Frog Prince, a Muppet Special.**


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

(Fall, 2011AD)

Just as Spike finished up talking to the human couple about effective dinosaurian combat techniques, a thunderous stomping approached. They looked up toward the east to find a two-story-tall brown shaggy creature, followed closely by a legged vehicle with a long curved "nose" with eyes and a dark-skinned female humanoid with sea-green hair.

Spike, so taken aback by the sight of the Gorg (for he had never seen a mammal _that_ large … why he was only a few feet shorter than a typical swamp monster), didn't notice the robed green-skinned dinosaur approaching him.

"Spike!" a familiar voice shouted with glee.

Spike tore his eyes away from the hairy mountain with legs and focused on Robert Sinclair. "You …," he hissed in shock. He gestured angrily toward the strange group. "You tell half da valley that you're lookin' for help, and all you can come up wit' is a bunch of cave rats wit' fancy clothes and an ape on thornoids?" he yelled accusatorily.

"What's an ape?" Junior asked the lone rider of the palanquin.

"Ix-nay on the accusations, Spike," Robbie pleaded in a hushed tone.

"Cave rats?" noted Eshe, Queen of Trash, with a cocked eyebrow and a hint of a smile, her arms crossed. "Beats 'frelling faes,' I suppose." 'Fae' was a generic term for human-sized elementals or fairies, though it was typically used as a slur by non-fairies … like that greasy toad Wander McMooch. Wander had despised faes for taking over watery abodes best left for amphibians and reptiles and fish alike. He thought they had an obnoxious air about them, obsessed with their superiority over all other beings. That was why he poisoned the lake of Moraine, that was why he was banished, and that was why he no longer trembled before his newest benefactress. Eshe had not treated him that way. She had allowed … no … _accepted_ McMooch's needs and wants, unconditionally.

"Apes are furry creatures with penchants for both playfulness and violence," Moulin told Junior matter-of-factly as she climbed down the steps of the palanquin. Despite her dislike of Junior, he was beginning to grow on her. It was true that he wasn't as beautiful as a reptile or a fish, the usual types of creatures that lived in Moraine, but their conversations had helped her see that he really was more than a dunder-headed lummox. With some proper education, his pure heart would make him an effective ruler.

Spike grabbed Robert by the arm and dragged him away as the newcomers conversed among themselves. When they were out of sight, Spike snarled, "How could you bring dose t'ings here?" He pushed Robert against a tree. "How can you trust 'em? How do you know they're not gonna turn on us and let that white predatory cave rat --."

"Spike, she's done more for us than we could ever have hoped for," Robert retorted through gritted teeth.

Spike suddenly let go, his jaw nearly slamming into the ground, his eyes filled with shock and pain. "You … you're not …." He couldn't believe his ears: Mizumi had done something to the water, had done some sort of voodoo with nearly every inhabitant of 'New Pangaea', had 'helped' Rob take control, had relocated the whole valley through time and space … and here was Rob, _defending_ her! He had assumed Rob was going to get help to _stop_ her.

Robert sighed, adjusting his robe. He scowled. "Look, Spike, I know you don't approve of her. You're not seeing the big picture: she rescued us, she placed us somewhere we could get actual resources that we wouldn't have otherwise. I mean, we have air conditioning again! When was the last time we had that?"

Spike exclaimed, "We're _cold-blooded_, Rob! Da heat wasn't gonna _kill_ us!"

Robert shook his head. "This whole 'I'm against the sins of civilization' thing is getting old, Spike," he replied tersely.

"Well, look where it got us," Spike shot back, bitterly. He snorted. "You're sounding like your ol' m--."

Spike flew backward, slammed in the stomach by Robert's thick green tail. He glanced up at Robert, who glowered at him, curling his upper lip slightly. Spike coughed briefly. He hadn't seen that coming. Rob really _had_ grown the last couple of years.

If he weren't so concerned over the lives of dinosaurs everywhere … he'd be proud.

* * *

"What do you _mean_, 'The water is poisoned?' Is that what that Polacanthus told you?" Moulin questioned Robin and Melora, who lounged on heaps of soft moss-covered earth, sipping tea daintily.

Melora looked at Robin, confused. She turned back to Moulin. "Sir Spike never told us the nature of his being. How do _you_ know what he is?"

Moulin smirked. "I study ancient history as a hobby," she replied smugly. "An effective ruler must be well-educated."

"Yes," Eshe commented dryly, rolling her eyes, "because studying lifeforms from millions of years ago is _so_ relevant…."

Moulin snapped her head toward the Queen of Trash, her eyes narrow slits, her voice hissing, and her veins popping in her neck. "And yet, _here they are_ --."

Eshe smiled and bowed slightly. "Point taken, Milady." Perhaps Moulin had a gift for prophecy that avoided detection. After all, from what she understood, Moulin had criticized her mother for challenging destiny in Mizumi's quest to woo Jareth. Also, it would make sense for a water elemental to engage in hydromancy, which used either ripples or oil layers to predict the future.

Moulin shook her head and glanced at the two human royals. She pointed at their white teacups, adorned with roses and lilypads. "If the water is poisoned, how are you drinking tea?"

Robin smiled. "We _always_ prepare ourselves. When the water of this stream was condemned by the reptilian creature, Sir Spike, it occurred to us that we had packed plenty of supplies for a whole month in the back of the carriage!" He laughed heartily. "We had completely forgotten!"

Moulin groaned, letting her face fall clumsily into her hands. It was bearable when there was just _one_ naïve oaf to deal with …. Faced with a trio of permanently happy faces … she may not survive this royal excursion _at all_.

* * *

The basement of the theater where Sarah's award-winning play was being held had seen it's fair share of drama itself. When the crown prop was discovered stolen, a porcine drama queen mopped up the floor with the aging thief.

Now, it was just cold and dark.

Sarah sat down on a small stool among the many props, including a two-foot-tall crown made of gold and silver and jewels. Her dark brown hair shielded her eyes as she sat crying. The crystal pillar had shattered, its shards disappearing shortly after Jareth had left yesterday.

For some strange reason … a reason she could not understand … she felt safe in the basement. It reminded her of falling into the oubliette dungeon, the dirt walls of which glittered with some sort of sparkles, like the ones she had seen on opening night. Despite the fact there had been no doors or windows or supplies, indeed only a jumbled dusty skeleton had been her companion, she had not felt afraid.

Of course, she didn't make the connection between the skeleton and her own supposed fate.

Suddenly, Sarah felt a bit of warmth near her face. She looked up, wiping her eyes … but there was nothing. She stood, glanced left and right, and cleared her throat. "Who's there?"

Nothing but silence greeted her.

She had expected a response, a gruff "me" blurted out from the darkness as the sound of a striking match brought forth a warm, almost intimate glow that had given her a sense of relief.

Though she had not been _afraid_ in the oubliette, she still welcomed company.

When he had patted her on the hand sympathetically, she didn't feel intimidated like she had been by Jareth. Jareth was very much like his own labyrinth, endlessly changing and beautiful but dangerous. _He_, on the other hand, _acted_ selfish, but had risked his life to save her from that gargantuan horned door robot called Humongous. Jareth, meanwhile, always stayed in complete control over the situation … or so he thought. Sarah had done the impossible … she had solved a maze designed to keep people from getting close to him.

And yet, talking to this powerful being was like talking to a narcissistic teenage boy: he desired her, he took any instance of her wishing for some time alone as a huge insult akin to requesting lifting a mountain into the air with one's bare hands, and he had no empathy for anyone.

Perhaps he was more than what he seemed … but even after all these years … he hadn't changed all that much. It hadn't been for lack of trying: Boober's chastisement had cured her of her innate egotism. She _wanted_ to like him, she _wanted_ to see him as more compassionate being … but he was willing to destroy everything he worked so hard for, just for her.

While most would consider that romantic, Sarah couldn't.

After all…

…

…what was to keep him from destroying _her_ because of a new, more attractive whim?

She wasn't a fool. She wasn't some headstrong hormone-driven teenager anymore, either. He had all the red flags of someone who lived impulsively and violently. He spied on her like an abusive, possessive husband. Perhaps nothing in her life was outside his awareness. He traps and kills those who stand against him.

What did _he_ need?

Boober had told her to see the needs of others. What can you do for the one who only seeks to dominate you so you'll spend the rest of your days cowering at his feet? What words can be said to someone who confuses power with love?

She just couldn't see the answer. She shook her head and began to pace the room.

"Get a grip, Sarah," she told herself angrily, clenching her fists. "You're over-the-hill now. You can figure this out. Argh!" she grunted as her knee hit a fake tree that leaned against a wall. She rubbed her leg and continued to pace, albeit more slowly. "You're forty-one: too old to be dense and too young to be senile. There _has_ to be an answer."

She sighed and resignedly plopped herself onto the stool once more, burying her face in her hands. "I just can't see it," she grumbled. She felt something light fall at her feet. She reached down, picked it up, and examined it. It was a long golden leaf, roughly a foot-and-a-half in length. She sniffed it. She expected it to smell of gold paint. Instead, it smelled like tea. Ceylon white tea, to be exact, she noted to herself in surprise. She looked at it more closely and discovered that it wasn't painted at all – it really _was_ golden naturally.

She stood up and decided to head home.

Maybe this was just what she needed, after all.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

(Fall, 2011AD)

Moulin knew something was wrong as she kneeled at the stream's bank. They kept claiming that the stream was polluted, but she could see no trace of it. She threw pebble after pebble into the stream, watching how the multitude of ripples interacted. As two sets of ripples met, they clashed and canceled themselves out. Just as she was about to throw another pebble into the water, she heard gasps as a firm hand grabbed her by the neck from behind, yanked her to her feet and twirled into the torso of a very strong male, who maintained his grip on her throat. She didn't need to see him, however. She had ridden in the same cab with him for what seemed like an eternity. She could smell him on all her clothes.

"Jar--."

"Say one word and it'll be your _last_," Jareth snarled from behind her.

Robin unsheathed his sword, the metal glinting in the sunlight. His pale beige outfit with gold jacket stood out starkly from the rich greens and browns and reds of the forest. He pointed it at Jareth. "Unhand yon fair maiden," he barked. "I do not suffer women to be harmed by violent brutes."

"Put that away," Spike rebuked him as he walked up on the situation, followed closely by Robert, who seemed rather tense. Spike yanked the sword from Robin's arm. "What _is_ it with you and that thing?"

"There _must_ be some error, King Jareth," Melora pleaded, her hands clasped together in a submissive gesture, her pale blue gown rippling in a brisk breeze. "Relinquish thy hold on Queen Moulin."

Jareth ignored them all. He wore black riding pants and boots, a dark maroon long-sleeved shirt, and a sleeveless black leather vest, adorned with a Celtic knot and interlacing, with a high collar, his owl pendant hanging against his chest. It was the uniform he chose in his Escher-esque North Tower, where he simultaneously mocked and pleaded with Sarah as she had attempted to obtain her baby half-brother. It was the uniform he chose when he was in a dark mood. He had "scarier" ones, like the one he used when he first met Sarah … but it was designed only to frighten children. It was _this_ outfit that suggested he was close to revealing just how much power he truly possessed. It was bold, simple, dark … a veritable mirror of his disposition.

He tightened his grip. "You _knew_," he growled, mere centimeters from her ear. "There was no way you could not sense it." He threw her to the ground with a painful thud.

She coughed and rubbed her throat, her face contorted in confusion. "What in the Underground are you talking about, Jareth?"

He smirked. "Esker." He pointed at her and spoke in a low voice. "You sent him to find me … to _distract_ me."

Robin and Melora were about to protest when they were hushed by Eshe.

Spike glanced at each participant. Something was up and it was about to get ugly. He had no idea who this 'Jareth' guy was, but he had a thought nagging him in a far corner of his mind that it had to do with that seductive little water wench. He still didn't know which of these new creatures to trust … but he got the gist that this Jareth character might be the one he needed.

Moulin coughed again and stood, straightening out her dress, nodding. "I asked my bodyguard to find you. We could simply have teleported here and I wanted to know where you kept going." She grimaced. "I imagine, Great Goblin King, that you weren't just scouting ahead."

"What I did was none of your concern," Jareth said finally.

Moulin's eyes widened briefly with a flash of recognition. She scoffed and turned her back on him. She waved dismissively. "You really _are_ just a raging batch of hormones, Jareth. _You_ summon us for some important meeting and you can't even stick around." She turned her face toward him. "Have you enjoyed wasting our time?" She pointed to the two dinosaurs. "If you wanted a diplomatic meet-and-greet, all you had to do was ask."

"How did you accomplish summoning your mother?" he retorted incredulously.

She whipped around, her face pale. "My mother is _dead_, Jareth! Your improvised little tour of Fraggle Rock made sure of _that_!"

"Wait, _Mizumi_ is the threat to the Underground?" Eshe gasped. "_Mizumi_, one of the most powerful water elementals to ever grace the universe, is the menace you wished us to battle?"

Spike could barely breathe. _They knew_….

Eshe's face reddened with fury. "You want _us_ to fight your ex after she's been dumped by you several times already? Have you _lost your mind_?"

"_You're a liar_!" screeched Moulin, lunging at Jareth, only to be held back by both Robin and Melora, who could barely keep their own feet on the ground, she was pulling so hard. Moulin's cloud companion darkened and grew as it flew circles high in the air above them.

Jareth smirked again. He tsk-tsked her. "Just ask _him_ --." He started to point in Robert's direction.

He wasn't there.

Spike followed Jareth's gaze, though he didn't need to. He already knew that Rob had sold all of New Pangaea down the river. He noticed Rob was gone as well. He glanced around and spotted some out-of-place gravel and some broken branches some yards away toward the mountains where the new Council of Elders met.

* * *

Robert Mark Sinclair ran as fast as he could, tossing his brown robe to the side as he ran so it wouldn't slow him down, leaving just a short-sleeved black pull-over shirt and his red-and-white sneakers.

_He hadn't felt this depth of fear since Baby's sixth birthday (his "real" sixth birthday, as opposed to the "seventh" birthday they told him he had). Someone had let slip that he was only six. Soon the whole ugly truth came out: when he had turned two, he had become so terrifying and violent that the only recourse was to trick him into thinking he was three._

"_You lied to me!" Baby protested in his high-pitched voice as he stood next to his cake. He wore a dark blue tank top and no longer wore diapers. He had been walking for some time now, so he was also a bit thinner. Losing weight made him look a bit awkward, but it was a relief no one had to carry him anymore._

_The next morning he was gone. Mizumi had even offered her assistance, using her powers to find him. She wrapped an arm around Robbie as the Sinclair family (consisting of his sister Charlene and his aunt Pearl) cried over the bloated pink form before them as they stood near the banks of the largest river of New Pangaea. Mizumi wore a long face, her silvery robes not as shimmering as they usually were, her long silver hair tied up loosely in a bun. She wore an amber droplet attached to a small thin silver tiara she made for herself. "Words cannot express my sorrow," she told him somberly. "Your baby brother will always hold a place in our hearts." She turned him around to face her, looking up at him with sapphire-blue eyes. Patting him gently on his shoulders, she said, "Take time to heal thy spirit, Robert." She smiled. "And remember my vow: I will do whatever I can to mold you into the leader you were born to become. Merely say the word, and I will assist you."_

_Robbie tore himself away from her. "I want my baby brother back," he told her, nearly choking in his own tears._

_Mizumi let her smile fall into a frown. "Yes, I understand. This loss must be incredibly painful to you." She pointed to herself. "I lost my daughter, so I understand the ache of losing loved ones. The only thing we can do in this life is learn to accept our destinies. We must let our emotions develop so they do not burn within us. We must grieve. We must strive to get on with our lives. We must always keep our future in mind, for dwelling in the past will only wither our hearts."_

Charlene had decided to learn more about the plants in New Pangaea, while Aunt Pearl stayed around for awhile to comfort Robbie.

Did Robbie really act like his father? He couldn't believe how the years had turned him into just a skinnier version of Earl Sinclair – a dinosaur embittered by loss, willing to go to insane lengths to scavenge any kind of meaning from life, desperate for progress while bemoaning the disappearance of a cherished, emotionally comfortable past.

And now it was all going downhill. Spike already acted like Robert had destroyed Pangaea. That Jareth guy didn't seem real thrilled to hear Mizumi was alive, either.

He had to find Mizumi.

* * *

"Where is she?" Jareth asked Spike calmly.

Spike started to come up with smart-aleck response, but thought better of it and shrugged. "I don't keep up wit' politics."

Moulin's face was streaming with tears. Her cloud companion, now a light gray, tried to soothe her by cooling her cheek with its mist. She fell to her knees, her hands trembling, gritting her teeth.

Eshe bent down beside her with a compassionate look on her face. "It must have been difficult to lose your mother," she noted quietly.

Moulin started laughing, surprising everyone present. She stood quickly and scoffed, "You think I honestly care about that?"

Jareth frowned. "So, you _did_ know she was alive."

Moulin shook her head and glared at him. "No. _My_ whole kingdom, myself included, thought my mother dead. I would not have accepted the crown had I known she was alive." She turned from him. "Idiot," she hissed.

Eshe picked up on the intentional inflection. She stood up and faced the now laughing queen. "In battle you will be asked to relinquish your crown, then."

Moulin glanced at her. "Over my dead body," she replied coldly.

Eshe shrugged. "A warning, young queen … it may yet come to that."

Melora hurriedly placed a hand on Moulin's shoulder. Her voice was tense. "Surely, a mother would not strike down her only child! Even beasts and ogres tend to their young!"

Moulin put up a hand to shush Eshe before she could speak and turned to Melora. Her face softened in pity. "Naïve Princess … how you and your prince go about your lives oblivious to the trials of others is truly thought-provoking."

Robin appeared behind his wife. "We have been fortunate, Milady. However, do not think we know nothing of trials. We had both been under frightening enchantments until love broke the spell."

Moulin stepped back and glanced away. "How wonderful it must be to suffer only temporary trials."

Robin and Melora's lips trembled. They just couldn't help themselves.

Robin started to sing, _For now we're happy…._

Melora added a verse cheerfully, _If not overjoyed._

Robin continued, _And we'll accept the things we cannot avoid, for now..._.

They both sang _For now_ three times and paused.

Soon, they continued,

_Don't stress,  
Relax,  
Let life roll off your backs  
Except for death and paying taxes,  
Everything in life is … only … for … now!_

Moulin groaned and rolled her eyes. What was _with_ this group and _singing_?

* * *

Robbie had nearly made it to the staircase leading up the mountain to the Council of Elders cave. He heard sobbing and stopped. Following the sound, he soon found two elderly cavemen … though they appeared to wear modern clothing. One was dead, but the other, much older looking, bent over him and sobbed. He wore a white shirt and beige pants. Age had ravaged his face and whitened his thinning hair.

The sobbing one stopped and looked up, pain tearing at his face. "Have you come to finish me off?" he asked with a shaky voice.

Robbie shook his head.

The elderly man gasped. "Y-You … are that Robert from the video."

Robbie's eyes grew big as saucers. "What 'video'? That would have been _millions_ of your years ago."

The man slumped against a tree resignedly. "You're the one who made it, right? The one which chronicled your family's trek to this valley?" He chuckled. "It was cracked, but something tells me the warranty's past expired."

Robbie shook his head. "I lost the camera…."

The man pointed at himself. "I found it." He groaned as he tried to stand. Robert rushed over and helped him up, being careful to avoid stepping on the deceased human. "Thank you," he said after straightening out. He tried to smile. "Our discovery changed our lives." He looked down at the body at his feet, shaking his head. "Despite his end, he died knowing that the video really _was_ about dinosaurs, after all." He sniffled, wiping his nose with his shirt, his hands trembling with either sorrow or age. He looked up at the green iguanodon. "I want to thank you, Robert. You single-handedly gave us old men meaning in our lives again." He sighed, looking distantly. After several moments, he continued sadly, "I … feel … home."

**Author's Note: Song from Avenue Q. I loved that play. :)**


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

(Fall, 2011AD … yes, still)

Sarah sat in the small dining area of her apartment, staring at her cup of tea she had made from a long golden leaf she found in the basement.

"Well," she said happily, shrugging, "this will either taste _really_ good … or it'll kill me." She shook her head as she smiled, turning the teacup in her hands over and over. "I can't wait to see my brother's eulogy: 'My sis was a famous Broadway playwright. She made millions of people happy. My sis lived life like it was one long, torturous Peter Jackson movie. In fact, she even wrote her own ending. She drank tea made from a prop and plopped dead in her own apartment. For, while my sister could write really great stories … she just wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier when it came to real life.'" She took a sip and closed her eyes. Didn't taste poisonous.

In fact, it really _did_ taste like Ceylon white tea.

After she drank roughly half the cup, the room started to spin and her head felt lighter.

_Crap_, she thought irritably.

She dropped the teacup, spilling the rest of the golden liquid all over the small oval table, dripping onto the linoleum floor.

The image of her dining area was swept away like blowing on a pile of sugar on the counter. She saw blurry images of a dark forest backlit with the setting sun. Red-orange blurs twirled and jumped around her.

Her heart rate began to quicken. The fierys were fire-elemental imps with detachable body parts, which they used for macabre sports and games. She realized she was viewing scenes from her teenage years, when she had been trapped in the Labyrinth. They sang to her, begging her to join them. When she refused, they jumped all over her, trying to dismember her. She couldn't fend them off. "Stop it!" she found herself screaming. They wouldn't. They wanted to "play" and if she didn't want to go along … they'd make her. She closed her eyes, her skin growing cold, her heart nearly bursting out of her chest.

"_HOGGLE_!"

* * *

Hoggle, Prince of the Land of Stench, lounged around the top of the North Tower overlooking a stunning view of the surrounding countryside. He had taken an hour to break into the Escher room, with its multi-angled staircases. He had smirked as he climbed up a few stairs, created a few of his own doors, and jumped off one particular platform. The key to getting to the top of the tower was to cheat. The goblins said that Sarah had merely jumped off the platform, breaking the illusion and thus landing at the top. They also said that a teenaged Toby used water from Moraine to discover the direction he needed to go.

Hoggle sipped some ale under a large umbrella, a red leather book spread across his eyes to allow him a much needed nap. He had finally threatened those bullying goblins with a dip headfirst into _his_ Bog of Eternal Stench.

…

It managed to make them submissive cowards except for the rare few who thought that sounded like fun.

Ah, he thought lazily to himself, it was good to be a prince, after all.

_HOGGLE_!

Hoggle shot up, the red leather book flying off his face and onto the stone roof of the tower.

It couldn't be. Certainly it wasn't _Sarah's_ voice he heard. Despite his offer to come whenever she needed him, he had realized at the Goblin Ball held for the teenaged Toby that she _didn't_ need him.

It had been the hardest thing for him to bear.

"_What have I done?" Hoggle asked the lowly junk surrounding him. He looked up slightly with a fearful conclusion. "I've lost my only friend … THAT'S what I've done."_

_Jareth had threatened Hoggle in order to give her a peach that would enchant her, tempting her with her dreams. He looked at the small bracelet she had given him. It was made with brightly colored plastic beads, but it was what it meant that impressed him at first and DEpressed him now in the junkyard outside the Goblin City. No one had ever given him a present before … at least, one that wasn't going to tighten suddenly or blow up in his face. She had given HIM, caretaker of the Labyrinth, a present. As materialistic as she was, it had been a shock that she would do such a thing._

_The sound of moving trash jerked him out of his somber thoughts. To his left a pile of rubble parted and out stepped a sparkling, almost glowing, dark-skinned woman with sea-green hair that fell to her shoulders like an algae-tinged waterfall. She smiled as she stood fully erect, adjusting her blue paper fan headdress. She wiped some dirt off her greenish-blue gown and walked over to Hoggle, sitting down beside him._

"_What are YOU doing here?" Hoggle asked, glancing at the newcomer only briefly before staring again at a rat scrounging for some food on the ground. "I don't want your jewels," he added bitterly. "There ain't nothin' you can gives me that'll fix things."_

_For a few moments, Eshe was silent. However, soon she smiled and leaned back, looking at the darkened sky. "You've lost your only friend, Hoggle."_

_Hoggle groaned. "Really?" he asked sarcastically. "Hadn't noticed. I goes through them like Rumplestilskin goes through straw."_

_Eshe stared at him, her smile waning. "Hoggle, do you want her back?"_

_He shook his head._

"_Why ever not?" Eshe asked, honestly surprised at his response._

_Hoggle glanced at her with an embarrassed, beaten-dog look in his eyes. "I AIN'T Jareth." He shook his head. "I ain't gots nuthin' to offer that girl."_

"_She took your jewels, didn't she?" she teased. When he groaned, she quickly added, "Hoggle, why do you REALLY think she took them?"_

_He swallowed to keep from having his voice break. "She's a manipulative little wench, just like that first one o' his." He glared at her. "She only took me jewels to make fun o' me! I even threw her own words in her face … I told her it weren't fair … and you know what she did?" Eshe shook her head. "ALL SHE SAYS IS, 'NO, IT ISN'T!' CAN YOU BELIEVES THAT?" he screamed, jumping up and kicking the rat, sending it flying through the air, squealing in terror._

_Eshe sighed. "Hoggle, your innocence when it comes to friendship is both endearing and frustrating." She stared at him, as though she were about to teach him the alphabet or something. "Hoggle – she needed you." She pointed emphatically at him. "She … wanted … you … to … stay … with … her. She … was … frightened … and … she … wanted … your … company." She shook her head and glanced at the sky again. "You really ARE just like him."_

"_Who?"_

"_Jareth."_

"_AM NOT!" Hoggle protested angrily, growling. "Jareth loves Jareth. Sarah loves Sarah. No one around to love Hoggle but HOGGLE!" he yelled, slapping his chest._

_Eshe stood and stared at the opening from which she sprang. "Everything thrown away can be found again, Hoggle," she noted calmly, avoiding his eyes. "When you rely only on yourself, you have no one else to blame for your loneliness." She turned to face him as she stepped slowly into the opening, pointing to her right, where a large hairy creature and fox-terrier-like being chased a stream of bubbles. "The heart never forgets, Hoggle. It always knows."_

_Hoggle watched her disappear under the pile of junk._

"_It always knows."_

Hoggle took the small white beach towel he had been laying on, flipped it over, attached a string to one end, and pulled on it, revealing a new opening that led to a small sofa. He jumped through.

* * *

Sarah was curled up into a ball, crying, on her floor just to the right of the sofa if you were sitting on it. Exhaustion was setting in. Hoggle grabbed her and shook her. "What did you do?" he questioned her loudly.

"H-H-Help," she responded weakly, sobbing.

He noticed a pool of liquid on the floor next to her. He reached over her quivering body, put his large hand in the liquid and brought it to his nose and sniffed deeply. His eyes widened, then he glanced at her sympathetically. "Hm, nirvana leaf tea … that's a rare thing to come across. You almost never see _those_ things no more."

He thought for a moment. Nirvana leaves had different effects depending on what the consumer needed to see or do. Supposedly, the gnarled dead tree on the hill just south of the Labyrinth used to be one before it croaked.

And it wouldn't wear off until the consumer accomplished their goal.

He wondered what Sarah needed to see so badly.

"F-fi-fire gang," Sarah whimpered. "Get them off me."

Hoggle looked around, confused. She drank tea made from a nirvana leaf and she saw _those_ clowns? What kind of masochist would want to see _them_?

_The heart ALWAYS knows._

Hoggle lifted Sarah's head gently in his hands, shushing her quietly as she whimpered. "Ain't none o' them here. Only Hoggle."

Sarah relaxed, her crying stopping so suddenly that Hoggle started to fear she had died. Her lips barely moved but he could just hear her with his large ears.

"You came to rescue me."

Hoggle was flabbergasted, almost to the extent that he nearly dropped her head on the floor. He had thrown her a rope so she could climb away from the Fierys back when she was a teenager. That was when she kissed him in gratitude. That was when Jareth dumped them in the Land of Eternal Stench. He looked down at her. "Y-you wanted me to rescue you?" he asked quietly, stroking her hair.

She smiled the faintest of smiles.

If he did what he felt like doing … he might lose her forever.

Still … she had wanted him. She had _needed_ him.

She could have called for the Goblin King. He could have made her swoon with his suave voice and enchanting eyes. Jareth would turn the world upside down for her.

Then again, Sarah _had_ kissed him in the Labyrinth. Even _Jareth_ couldn't boast of that.

He pecked her on her forehead.

She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. A last set of tears flowed from her eyes. "Hoggle … you're here," she noted with relief. "I thought I was either dreaming or dead." She reached behind his head and lowered it, returning the kiss on his cheek. She smiled again as she let go, slipping into a more relaxed slumber. "Don't go," she said softly.

* * *

"Oh, _Marjory_," Philo asked in his high-pitched, grating voice, "where did dat last remainin' nirvana leaf go?"

"What nirvana leaf?" Marjory asked as she held a pair of purple-framed glasses up to her deep-set eyes, reading a small romance-themed magazine.

"Da one from dat pile you asked us to rake ovah here for ya?" he continued in a sarcastically sweet tone. "You know, da ones from that pile dat formed awhile back when dat ol' Gorg lost his royal title?"

Marjory smirked and chuckled, flipping over another page with her free hand. "I must have misplaced it," she said playfully.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

(Fall, 2011AD)

The sky darkened over the valley of New Pangaea, sending some creatures scurrying, terrified that the Darkness that Came Before was returning.

Jareth and Moulin stared at the sky and then glanced at each other. He nodded slightly, his body collapsing into a barn owl, and he took flight to the opposite side of the valley.

Prince Robin stared solemnly at the fleeing bird. "Is Jareth, King of the Goblins, afraid of a mere thundershower?"

Eshe shook her head, staring at the blackening clouds. "It's Mizumi."

Melora placed their supplies back in their carriage. "Why would he flee from her? Should he not defend his own honor?"

Moulin glanced at her. "How do you ever expect to live as queen if you can't appreciate basic strategy?" she asked as though Melora had asked the present color of someone caught red-handed.

Before Melora could reply, a thunderous stampede jarred them all. Out of the forest came large quadrupedal dinosaurs, some with thick long necks and tails, as well as an assortment of vicious-looking bipedal dinosaurs. All of their eyes had bluish tinges to them.

Spike backed up slowly until he was even with Robin. His voice was almost a whisper as he continued to gawk at the horde approaching them. "Now would be an appropriate time to pick up your sword."

Eshe approached Moulin. "Now what?"

Moulin smirked. "Mother has enchanted them with her powers."

Spike nodded and added, "Dey all drank from the streams and rivers and stuff here. Turned 'em all against us Scavengers."

The swarm of dinosaurs growled and snarled, clawing at the ground with their feet.

Eshe put her hand on Moulin's shoulder and whispered in her ear, "I have something to attend to. I'll return shortly." With that, she disappeared.

Robin turned to Melora. "The odds decrease in our favor every moment, fair Princess," he told her. "Drive the carriage to higher ground." She nodded, rushed over to him, kissed him good luck, and sped away. Some dinosaurs wished to follow, but Spike put himself in between them and the princess. Robin spied Spike's response, as the latter gave some sort of gesture with his hands to his enchanted compatriots, and nodded in agreement with the rogue's decision to defend his nation. He followed Spike's example. "To the death, then!"

"Not if ya wanna win!" Spike shot back as he started lunging toward some of the bigger ones. "You concentrate on the small ones first!" He grunted as he jumped over a swinging tail. "I got da middle-sized ones!"

"The biggest fall last and hardest!" added Robin gleefully, swinging his sword and aiming for the spots Spike had mentioned earlier.

"Dat's da idea!"

Mizumi appeared in a whirlpool of water from the stream. Water droplets spread out like wings as they shot out from her body before falling back into the water. She stared at Moulin, holding out her hand. "Daughter … how noble of you to bring me the crown. The kingdom of Moraine shall never forget your loyalty and servitude."

Moulin tried to gulp without being noticed. She was an experienced fencer and sorceress, but sparring against her mother had always been difficult. Furthermore, there was no telling how advanced she might have become in this valley.

Still, she smirked.

"Through irritations untold and conversations mundane, from my cold, limp fingers willst thou pry the Kingdom of Moraine!"

To Moulin's (slight) surprise, Mizumi maintained her expression. "As you wish," she replied calmly.

A torrent of water from the stream built up around Moulin, her cloud companion shooting up into the air to avoid Mizumi's absorption powers, for its own water-creating abilities were infinite and would feed Mizumi indefinitely. Moulin calmly let the water build up around her. She relaxed, letting her mind reach out, feeling the swirling vortex until it seemed to be one with her. When she felt comfortable, however, Mizumi clenched her outstretched hand and it contained the young queen in a watery cocoon. Moulin twirled around helplessly, trying to hold her breath, when she saw through the water several of the largest dinosaurs rearing up to stomp the others flat. She threw out her arms, the water following her command, rushing toward the nostrils of each quadruped. They panicked, unable to breathe, drowning despite the fact they were not in the ocean. They fell backwards, some breaking their tails. Moulin caught her breath just as Mizumi closed in while she had had her attention elsewhere.

Mizumi grabbed her obstinate daughter by the throat, starting the absorption process. As the moisture was pulled forcefully from her daughter, Mizumi started to see images of her daughter, disguised as a human young woman, laughing over dinner with a red-brown-haired woman in a business suit. She tightened her grip, her lips curling into a fierce scowl. "My own daughter! Plagued with attraction to a pathetic, mortal, weak-willed, unattractive _human_!" She flung her daughter across the now shallower stream, watching her land clumsily like a rag doll. She walked over the water to pursue the nearly lifeless form of her once-beloved daughter. "You would risk your immortality, your power … for an impudent little _banker_?"

* * *

Spike swept one spikeback dinosaur with his tail, grabbed two opposing dinosaurs with his hands and spun around and slammed them together, knocking them out. He ducked as a tyrannosaur lunged at his exposed arm-length neck from the side and body slammed him. Tyrannosaurs were notoriously imbalanced … the tiniest thing would topple them. In a brief respite, Spike glanced around for the human kid with the sword obsession.

Robin bellowed in triumphant glory as he crushed the broadside of his sword onto the skull of a small duck-billed dinosaur. He had not taken a single hit, while the pile of his defeated opponents grew.

Spike smiled as he continued looking for guys to fight.

He might grow to like the new kid after all.

* * *

As Mizumi approached the trembling girl, a black blur flew in front of her face. When her eyes finally caught up with it, it proved to be a rather large darkened version of Moulin's cloud. It circled twice around Mizumi with a speed that would have frightened most other beings, rose up high into the air, and dove straight down.

"You will never defeat me," Moulin strained, now standing defiantly.

Mizumi took her eyes away from the cloud for a single second to watch as Moulin threw back her head, the ties containing her pigtails flying off, letting her pitch-black hair fall freely, her eyes wide and welcoming. Her thunderous companion rushed into Moulin's open left eye until nothing was left. Moulin blinked twice and turned her head back to her mother, smiling darkly. The scar over her left eye faded, closing, until it too disappeared.

When Moulin was just a precocious toddler, she and her sister Drumlin had fought each other as toddlers were wont to do. However, Drumlin had nearly popped from draining so much water from Moulin that Mizumi prevented any future occurrences by splitting open Moulin's left eye and draining her power into a near-sentient cloud above her head. While Moulin still retained the ability to manipulate water, the source of it had been externalized to keep her favored daughter safe.

Moulin trembled slightly, maintaining her deadly grin. Her arms stretched out, and the waters of the stream flew in opposite directions.

Mizumi smirked. "Do you really think draining the area of liquid water will help you?"

Moulin replied coldly, "No."

Before Mizumi could react, all that water came rushing back at a pressure greater than that of a fire hose. Both streams of water hit Mizumi at the same time, nearly crushing her, and then started to spin rapidly. Moulin twirled one hand continuously as she gestured with the other hand towards the clouds, liquefying them. Enough water to fill the Great Lakes twice drenched the spinning bands of water.

* * *

Spike struck the last mid-sized dinosaur and glanced over at the roaring water as it spun. He sidestepped over to Robin, guided his gaze, grabbed his arm, and dragged him away from the fight. The defeated dinosaurs shook their heads and panicked, stampeding in nearly every direction away from what was fast becoming a ground-level hurricane in the valley.

* * *

Mizumi kept her eyes closed. She could breathe in water with only mild currents, but at the speeds this water was revolving around her, she couldn't catch her breath. She tried to command the water, but there was far too much and what was worse, her absorption powers had shut down instinctively to prevent excessive, exploding bloating. She could barely feel her clothes start to fall apart, as well as strands of hair yanked from her head. Her tiara had been swept away long ago.

Just as suddenly, all that water dropped, nearly crushing them both, flooding the area briefly until it flowed downstream toward the entrance of the valley.

Mizumi gasped instinctively, but she had been without oxygen for too long. She fell to the ground in a heap of torn silver robes.

Moulin panted heavily, her fingers twitching uncontrollably. She lowered her arms, feeling her heart weaken. Her eyes rolled up as she slumped to her knees, and then she fell face-first into the mud.

Eshe appeared in front of Moulin, lifted her face from the mud, and listened for breathing. When she realized Moulin was still alive, she cradled the queen, wiping the mud from her face. "Noble Moulin, you threw away your chance for love to reign over your kingdom," she said softly, smiling. "Anything thrown away can be found again…."

They both disappeared from the valley.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

(Fall, 2011AD)

Prince Robin finally plopped down on a small boulder nearly three miles away from Mizumi's battle with her daughter, while Spike leaned against a tree, panting. They had never had to run so fast, but they had to escape the ever-increasing wall of water. They spent several moments just catching their breath, their heads bent down in exhaustion.

Spike lifted his head first, listening intently. "Water's stopped."

Robin took a few moments to respond. He nodded weakly. "I don't hear it either. I wonder about the identity of the victor."

Spike wiped some sweat (or was it water?) from his brow. He took off his bandana and wrung it out, placing it back on tenderly. "Maybe it was both. Or neither," he said, shrugging. He looked at his leather jacket and scowled. "Fightin' these water chicks is gonna _ruin_ my jacket."

* * *

Mizumi twitched. Soon, she started to cough, bubbles of water spurting out of her mouth. She rolled over to face the sky, but had no strength to rise.

* * *

"Shall we go and check on them?" Robin asked his new fighting partner.

Spike lowered his head again. He didn't _want_ to go back. This was, as it appeared to him, a lover's quarrel that had gotten out of hand. Still ….

He nodded. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to see if we won, huh?" he replied with a weak smile.

They reappeared near the battlefield, nearly sinking in the muddy wasteland the area had become. The closest trees had been broken and washed away, the stream was a muddy mess … and Moulin was missing.

"Whoa," came another male voice from far across the stream.

Spike and Robin looked over to see Robbie, wide eyed in shock as he surveyed the damage, carrying an elderly-looking human in both arms as though cradling a baby. He gently set the human down and approached the only two left standing. He had been crying, judging from the redness around his emerald-green irises.

Spike frowned. He looked around with intentional movements. "Why, the battle's over, the environment destroyed – hey, look! Here comes Robert Mark Sinclair!" he proclaimed sarcastically. "Heckuva job, Robbo," he added, slapping his arm on Robert's shoulder. He started to walk away. "Hope you brought a big enough _mop_."

Robert stared at the ground. His impulse was to lunge at his former friend. He gulped, twiddling his fingers. Finally, he bellowed, "You're just going to walk away from me?"

"Looks like it, kid," Spike retorted, waving him off dismissively as he approached Mizumi's barely breathing form.

"Why did you kill him?" Robert shouted angrily, the tenseness in his voice threatening to make it crack like it always did when he was a teenager.

Spike stopped dead cold in his tracks. He slowly turned toward Sinclair. "Kill whom, may I ask?"

"My brother."

Spike blanched. Spike changed his mind about seeing Mizumi and marched over to within arm's length of Robert. "Care to repeat that to my _face_, squirt?"

Robbie jutted out an open palm, shoving Spike back a couple of feet. "You _heard_ me, maggot," he replied. "She told me everything. She showed images of you holding him down in the river."

Spike's eyes glistened. "You can't be seri--."

Robbie lunged at him, but Spike dodged. However, Robbie skidded in the mud, twirled around, and swept Spike off the slick ground with his tail. As Spike fell, Robbie crowed, "I'm lighter and more maneuverable on this terrain."

He heard applause, but he didn't dare look behind him after he had just started a fight with Spike. He tried to hide the surprised look on his face: he honestly hadn't expected that to work that well. Spike must have really tired himself out somehow. Come to think of it, the whole area reeked of the panicked presence of dinosaurs. He must have missed an epic battle.

"Bravo," a pained female voice announced. Mizumi wobbled slightly as she sat up, smiling. "Robert, you are a natural leader, an alpha male of the highest standing. Even with your former compatriots trying to deceive you, you know the truth. You are a dinosaur of remarkable integrity."

Robbie nodded. "Yes, I am," he replied loudly as Robin was too dumbstruck to move against him. Robbie seemed to tower over his former friend. "I mean, I got elected Elder because I could bring New Pangaea to greatness, Spike," he added. His tone became more urgent and intentional. "But you? You're a _Scavenger_ – Scourge of the Swamp, Maker of Deals – and you can't even live up to your name! A Scavenger excels in eating the injured and the dead." He pointed at Spike accusatorily, with the slightest hint of a wink. "Unless you can defend your title, I demand it from you!"

Spike slowly stood, a look of confusion still on his face. A slight smirk, almost imperceptible, showed Robbie that he had understood. Spike glared at him incredulously. "So, I am to understand that you're still bent on gettin' my title, is that it, _Scooter_?"

Robbie looked at him with a pained expression. His voice continued to be defiant. "I will avenge my baby brother with every ounce of energy I've got!"

They both rushed Mizumi, though the mud slowed them down, their feet slipping every few steps. Mizumi's eyes widened.

Could creatures with brains no larger than grapefruit _seriously_ challenge her?

THUMP!

Robbie and Spike fell backwards as if they had hit an invisible wall.

Mizumi sat, stunned, her head cocked in confusion.

They sat back up, rubbed their snouts and glanced at each other with contorted faces.

The sound of flapping wings alerted them, making everyone look up. A barn owl flew in lazy circles as it descended. Upon landing, the wings fluttered as the bird grew into a tall thin man with feathered blond hair that reached to his shoulders. He wore an off-white unitard with white boots, cloaked in a thick cape made of white and tan feathers overlaying a sparkling gold fabric that reached to his ankles. He stared at the two, saying nothing.

They didn't need any words.

She was _his_.

Behind him, a nearly invisible crystal wall shattered, peppering the mud below in between Jareth and Mizumi.

Eshe appeared behind Robin. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Help me get that elderly man to Melora. We need to take him somewhere safe. I know just the place." As Robin began to walk over toward him, Eshe hunched over the two dinosaur males, who were now caked in mud. She whispered to them and they got up warily to follow her.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

(Fall, 2011AD)

At last, the two were alone. Jareth turned toward Mizumi, who sat dumbfounded some yards away in the mud. He was radiant, an almost glowing god of unimaginable power, Mizumi thought to herself. One might have assumed he was but a mere earth elemental, what with his attraction to crystals and such, but he was instead an air elemental. She had spent many years dwelling on what happened in Fraggle Rock and she had finally figured it out. He could not create crystals. Rather, he summoned them from the ground underneath his kingdom. He had developed some symbiotic relationship with the living crystals that dwealt underneath the surface of the earth.

So, he had learned to depend on others after all.

A crystal wall rose up all around them, forming a large dome. Mizumi looked around and smirked. "Do you honestly think I'd run away?"

Jareth's face remained blank, his voice monotone. "I don't want you pulling any more water from the air or earth than I permit," he noted.

Mizumi frowned briefly, then smiled as she rose, groaning. She stared at him defiantly. "It's a pity you think so little of me, Jareth. A dome won't stop me. There's enough water in this ground for miles around to feed this fight forever."

Jareth smirked slightly. "What makes you think there's no crystal floor beneath the surface?"

Mizumi laughed. "Oh, the glorious memories of the past." She sighed wistfully. "I did so enjoy our last encounters."

Sharp crystal shards from the last barrier Jareth had created flew up from the ground, pointing at her menacingly. They zipped through the air, converging on her. With a wave of her hand and a bored expression, mud swirled up ahead of her and caught every shard, dissolving the crystals in its own bulk before falling back to the ground.

She shook her head condescendingly. "_Really_, Jareth." Her smile grew darker. "Let me mar those feathers of yours." With a flick of her fingers, mud exploded around Jareth, making him fall backwards. She laughed triumphantly.

Until the falling mud revealed a crystal cocoon, which protected his white plumage.

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Well, do you wish to set a time limit, or shall universes die out before this ends?"

_How was he keeping his boots white in this mud?_ she wondered silently with some irritation. She glared at his boots and noticed a slight shimmer. Ah. He had used crystal to form a barrier.

"How could you ever love a pathetic little worm like her, Jareth?" Mizumi oozed. "She is powerless and uniting with her would suck away your strength as well." She smirked, wagging her finger at him. "Or do you _want_ to start collecting senior benefits?" she asked, cackling.

Jareth smiled for the first time, approaching several steps. "And how _is_ your fair queen daughter? I've heard she's been in the market for some new bank accounts." Mizumi started to fume, all humor obliterated from her face. He chuckled briefly. "To think, the Kingdom of Moraine wouldn't be losing a queen … they'd be gaining an accountant."

Mizumi roared, caking the entire dome in mud, making it drip endlessly upon them.

Jareth glanced at his robe, getting more soiled with every minute. He glared at her teasingly. "Do you know how hard this is to _wash_?" He paused. "The only thing to do is wait til it dried," he added, a fake hurt in his voice.

Mizumi, meanwhile, was too furious to respond, though he couldn't tell how red her face was since she was drenched in mud.

Jareth sighed, tossing his shoulder-length hair back. "Ah well." He snapped his fingers.

Flames appeared here and there and out popped a Fiery from each one until about a dozen had appeared. They looked around, scratched their reddish-orange furry heads and smacked their long pointy beaks. "He-_hey_! Where the heck is the par-_tay_?"

"Yeah!" shouted another one. "We were told there'd be barbecue chips and hot salsa!"

"Whoa, what the --?" another one blurted out as mud dripped on him. They all instinctively stared at Mizumi. "Do you know how hard it is for fire elementals to take a _bath_, lady?"

Jareth took a few steps back and crossed his arms with a smirk.

Mizumi rolled her eyes. She glanced angrily over at Jareth. "Your solution to our battle is a bunch of immature little _imps_?"

"Hey, who's immature?" protested the tallest of them. He pointed at her. "_You're _the one lookin' like you been gettin' some mud-wrestlin' _grooves_ on, baby!"

"Yeah," offered a fatter one, "at least _we_ keep ourselves clean!"

"For the most part, anyway…," laughed another one as they began to sing…

_We can show you a good time (show you a good time)  
And we don't charge nothin' (nothin' at all)  
Just strut your nasty stuff,  
Wiggle in the middle yeh  
Get the town talkin', fire gang_

_Chilly down with the fire gang (think small)  
Think small with the fire gang  
Bad hep with the fire gang (hey, listen up)  
When your thing gets wild  
Chilly down_

_Chilly down…._

As they sang, they spread fire all over, causing the entire area to heat up substantially. They jumped and twisted and cavorted, pulling on each other and using the falling globs of mud for target practice.

Jareth noticed some areas of the mud ceiling begin to crack from the heat. He exhaled deeply. The mud that covered them would protect them from the heat somewhat, but he'd have to call this off at some point since the heat had nowhere to go under the dome. They'd also run out of air much more quickly.

Mizumi's blood was nearly boiling, but not because of the heat from the fires. She thrust her arms out, but the mud had dried all around her and she could no longer summon her powers.

The Fierys noticed her frustrated gestures and cackled and giggled. They bounded over to her and jumped all around her, mocking her. "Why, you ain't able to just fling yo' arms off like that, lady!"

"Yeah," the fat one added, "you normal folks gotta get some help first."

They leapt onto her, hanging on despite her twisting and turning and slamming them against the walls of the now very hot mud-caked crystal dome, cracking it.

"Yank her arms _this_ way! Break the hinges!"

"You ain't got that right, man! The shoulder a _ball_ joint!"

"Well, _let's have us a BALL_!" The Fierys nearly made themselves hoarse with laughter as they tried to pull Mizumi apart.

The crystal dome started to shatter all around them.

Most of the Fierys jumped off, playfully dodging the falling shards. "Hey! Watch out! You could put out some eyes wit' dose things!"

The tall one plucked out his own eyes and cackled, holding them in his fist. "Hey, if we take 'em out, we can put 'em in our pockets and keep 'em safe!"

"Man, we ain't _got_ no clothing!"

The Fiery popped his eyes back into place and shrugged. "Well, I don't see no other solution, gang!" He backflipped back over to Mizumi, picked up a large crystal shard and plunged it into the base of Mizumi's neck. "I guess we'll just have to take her head off the _fast_ way!"

Jareth snapped his fingers.

"Whoa, time's up!" a Fiery shouted.

The leader jumped off and snapped his fingers, glaring at Jareth. "Man, when you gonna _really_ let us cut loose?"

"Cut loose!" the others laughed as they disappeared in columns of flames.

Jareth calmly walked over to Mizumi as she fell to the ground, clutching her neck, the mud on her hands staining red. He could see her smiling.

"Do you find your demise so amusing?" he asked curiously.

Her arms were trembling. Her eyes rolled briefly before locking onto him. "You would never … do this … to that human," she said, her voice starting to sound congested. "She cared nothing … for … your … power. I … n … hand," she continued almost unintelligibly, "l-loved … p-r."

He took her by the neck and encased it in crystal to help her speak more clearly.

She smiled, her eyes losing focus. "You … you …," she sputtered, "never … dis-disappoint." Her breathing shallowed. "Y-you … really … did love … m-me."

As she began to lose cohesion, he drew her liquefying form into a crystal sphere. He didn't want to risk her recoalescing in the future.

**Author's Note: Song is from Labyrinth, owned by David Bowie and the Hensons.**


	46. Chapter 46

Epilogue

(Spring, 2012AD)

Miss Piggy applied lipstick in front of her mirror in the Muppet Theater dressing room, which was decorated with pale pink paint, a large golden star nailed to the door, a small pet bed for her dog by a deep red chaise, and a large walk-in closet for all of her outfits. She smacked her lips as there came a series of knocks at the door.

"Make it fast!" she growled. "I got a song comin' up!"

"It's Robin, Miss Piggy," came a young male voice. "It's important."

The door opened and Robin the Frog looked up at Miss Piggy, dressed in a black lace dress, her ever-present lavender elbow-length gloves, and a sparkling pearl necklace. Her blonde hair was tied up loosely while she applied makeup. "Come in," she said in a high-pitched voice. "How can I help vous?" she asked as she walked back to her mirror.

Robin sniffed and wiped his nose. "Miss Piggy, ma'am, it's Uncle Kermit."

Piggy stopped and turned, looking down at the foot-long frog. She frowned, a slight growl surfacing in her voice, "He's not canceling my number is he?"

Robin shook his head vigorously. "Oh no! It's nothing like that at all! I just," he began, "I just … wanted to ask you something … uh …."

"Spit it out, kid," Piggy, trying hard not to tap her foot.

Robin gulped. He had seen what happened to those who asked something too personal. He gulped again. "Well, it's just … I wanted to ask you … _why you left Uncle Kermit_," he spat out finally, staring at the floor, trying to look as submissive as possible.

Piggy blinked, her lips tightly shut. Finally, she exhaled and nodded towards the small table under the mirror. "Hop on up, kid," she said softly. When he did so, she inhaled and patted him on his tiny shoulders. "Want a bon bon?" She paused, looked at the small candy in her hand, grunted, put it back in a small drawer, and took out another piece. "On the other hand, how 'bout a peppermint?" Robin nodded slightly and took it from her, thanking her quietly. Piggy resumed applying makeup. "Robin, mon cher, you are not yet old enough to appreciate the finer points of media presence." She glanced at him warmly. "This petit on-and-off-again thing between me and your uncle Kermie is merely for the _exposure_, dear."

Robin's voice wavered. "But, he seems so _sad_ all the time…."

Piggy dropped her makeup. She stared at her mirror for several minutes, her facial expression completely blank. At last, she cleared her throat and laughed demurely.

"And don't say it isn't real," Robin cut her off. "I'm around him more than you."

"Thirty seconds to curtain, Miss Piggy," announced Scooter from outside.

"Stall!" Miss Piggy barked. She stared into Robin's eyes. "Ma petite grenouille, I know it can be difficult sometimes to see adults feel sad, but it happens to everyone," she told him in a soft, melodious voice. "Your uncle didn't want you to be upset." Robin lowered his head as he sucked on the peppermint. She sighed. "But, here you are, upset anyway, and if you won't tell, I won't." He nodded, looking up at her. She tried to maintain a smile. "My little global adventure with _Nick-y_ was simply to have fun. Kermie goes and dances with female celebrities all the time."

"So, you guys _are_ through?"

Piggy laughed. "No, of course not."

"He says --."

"I _know_ what he says," Piggy growled. She cleared her throat, returning to her sing-song tone. "You can thank that little shrimp for getting Kermie all worked up, dear."

"Pepe?"

"Oui," she replied, "he is the one who broke the news that the state of New York does not consider our marriage legal." She pouted, but quickly recovered. "Ironically, that pork commercial has-been Vegan can be legally married, but we cannot." She put her hand on his back. "So, that is why Kermie has been rather irritable lately," she noted sadly.

Robin nodded. "Oh." He had a flash of inspiration. "Maybe Pepe could con the state government into approving an exception for you!"

Piggy smiled, swallowing the tinge of hurt that he had inadvertently caused. She kissed him on the top of his head. "That is very sweet of you, but a real minister married us. I do not care what the government thinks." She paused. "You see, dear little Rob-in … real love does not require approval. It only needs to exist. Do you understand?"

Robin stared at the floor for a few moments and nodded. He smiled finally and stood up on the table, pecking Miss Piggy on the cheek. He stood back. "Thanks, Miss Piggy. Good luck on your number!" he announced as he hopped off onto the floor.

Piggy wore a half-smile on her face. "A star does not _need_ luck, kid," she whispered as he left.

* * *

Jareth sulked in the dank tunnels underneath the Labyrinth. Soon, though, he could hear the False Alarms, which were large wall-sized faces carved into the stony walls….

"Go back, while you still can!"

"This is not the way!"

A soft light illuminated a small side tunnel, dainty footsteps occasionally stepping in puddles. Before long Eshe appeared, carrying a small lantern. She looked both ways at a T-junction and spotted Jareth moping on his behind to her left. She smiled.

"I suppose you've come to mock me," Jareth mumbled.

Eshe said nothing until she sat effortlessly at his side, placing the lantern gently on the ground. She stared straight ahead. After several silent moments, she began to sing a somber song…

_When you long for the height of the mountains,_

_When you long for the blue,_

_Leave your heart where it's deep and it's down again,_

_Lose your heart till it's new._

Jareth rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly. However, he sang along, though his voice was more melancholy….

_Once I thought I could fly like an eagle can._

_Once I thought I was brave._

_Now I wait till my heart starts to beat again,_

_Deep in the heart of the cave._

Sparkles illuminated the tunnel as the beat changed to a more primal beat as Eshe sang anew, staring doe-eyed at the Goblin King….

_Listen up, cause this is all I have to say,_

_This could be the thing to get you on your way._

_Just imagine what is old is new, again…_

_Maybe then you'll understand …_

_I dare ya!_

Small florets of various colors appeared, sprouting from the brick walls. Scenes of the entire labyrinth appeared on the opposite brick wall as though a projector was behind them. The brick wall maze looked like an invisible team was washing it, the hedge maze flowered, a flock of multicolored birds erupted from the dark forest, and even the Bog of Eternal Stench seemed relatively cleaner. The music swelled as Eshe belted out the chorus….

_I see a Kingdom…_

_Shining bri-ight…_

_I can see the colors coming through! Yeah…._

_You find the beauty if you look at something ri-i-i-ight…_

_It's all about your point of view …_

_In life, it's … all about your point of view-ew…._

Jareth watched his kingdom erupt with new life. He turned to Eshe.

While he didn't say anything, she noticed his hand barely grazing hers as they continued to sit underneath the sentient maze.

* * *

Junior Gorg sighed as he dumped his pack at the gate leading to his parents' castle. "Pa! Ma! I'm home!" He looked up at the roof and saw some strange metal box sitting up on the roof, glinting in the sunlight. He scratched his chin. "Huh, wonder what _that_ is?" He shrugged, though, and walked into the castle.

What he saw was the strangest thing ever that had happened to all of Gorgdom:

His parents were dressed in all black, while a multitude of Fraggles sat on some shelves, Princess Melora and Prince Robin stood in front of the Gorgs on a dining room table, joined by Robert, Charlene, and Pearl Sinclair, who also all wore black, and a seven-foot-long case, what looked like Pa's ornate cigar case, rested in the center of the table, surrounded by bright green and golden leaves, small piles of glittery round pebbles of every color of the rainbow, and a knitted gray and white blanket covering the case. Some device above their heads twirled around and around, making a welcome breeze in the usually stuffy castle.

Pearl Sinclair sniffed and began to sing a melancholy song with her country twang….

_Saying goodbye, going away_

_Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say_

Charlene sniffled and grasped her aunt's and brother's hands as she sang.

_Touching our hands, wondering why,_

_It's time for saying goodbye._

Mokey, wearing a dark blue robe with small bright flowers in her silver-blue hair, held her hands up toward the case, her head lowered somberly as she intoned in a deep, smooth voice.

_Saying goodbye, why is it sad?_

_Makes us remember the good times we've had_

_Much more to say, foolish to try --_

_It's time for saying goodbye._

Robin crooned, _Don't want to leave, but we both know…._

Melora sang, her voice choking, _Sometimes its better to go._

Ma and Pa Gorg, their heads lowered, held each other as tears streamed down their faces.

_Somehow we know, we'll meet again_

_Not sure quite where and we don't know just when_.

_You're in our hearts, so until then_,

_It's time for saying goodbye._

They all hummed the same melody for several more bars, gradually softening into silence.

Pa, wiping the tears from his face, cleared his throat. "Marjory, a Trash Heap we've come to know and love, has taught us all something very special about ourselves. The nirvana leaves we've eaten showed us that," he continued, looking warmly at his wife, who batted her eyes, smiling, "we have loved each other for an eternity … maybe even more than _that_. Far before our ancestors even bothered counting days, there was a world which was forgotten in the mists of time, drenched in a blanket of snow … yea, even a blanket of woe. But now we see that we have _not_ been alone in this universe of ours." He gestured to the Sinclairs. "All my life I sought to hold onto my traditions. Now I see them standing right before me. The past and the future, connected for all to see." He started to choke up, tears streaming from his eyes. He shook his head slightly. He couldn't continue.

Robbie, who hadn't stopped crying, took up the speech. "I've learned that family bonds transcend time and space," he added, his voice cracking. "I've … I've learned that no matter what disappears, it lives on … _somewhere_, _somehow_."

Ma nodded slowly, a motherly expression on her face. "And now, our friends, our family … we have spent so much time with each of you that it is time to put our sorrows to rest and plant the seed so that the tree may gain new life."

She began to wail a new song as Pa gestured for Junior to come and pick up the case as Ma held out her hands to hold the Sinclairs. Pa picked up the two human royals and Mokey and followed Ma as she headed for the front door, leading to the garden where plants were just beginning to bud. Junior, realizing at last they were holding a funeral, carefully carried the makeshift casket and followed his father.

_When my time to go is here,_

_Call my friends to gather near._

_Tell the doctor and the preacher that I'm failing._

As they headed toward a small flowerbed near their gazebo across their property from the castle, they began to pick up the tempo.

_But forget about your black,_

_'Cause I'm planning to come back._

_Play some honky-tonkin' grief and Dixie wailing._

Once they stopped in the right place, the Gorgs let down their passengers, everyone soon brightening in their faces as they increased the tempo even more.

_Pick me up and lay me down,_

_And spread the news all over town,_

_And tell 'em all to come or they'll be sorry._

_Pick me up and shake me twice._

_I'm coming back from paradise._

_This poor boy is here to live in glory._

_When it's time to say good-bye,_

_All my friends will sit and cry,_

_And they'll watch the coffin rockin' round and squirmin'._

_Then they'll raise a mighty shout,_

_When my bones come marching out._

_And I praise myself and preach the final sermon._

Junior solemnly lowered the casket into the grave that had been dug, as the Sinclairs smiled, placing wreaths on the coffin. The Gorgs spread the remainder of the nirvana leaves across the coffin, hugged each other, and beckoned everyone to the picnic table they kept outside, including now several smaller ones for Fraggles, humans, and dinosaurs, where a large spread banquet awaited them.

* * *

(Summer, 2012AD)

Pa Gorg sat in the gazebo, sipping some greaseberry tea. Junior had left the council early when it became clear that it was not what it was supposed to be, and Junior had refused to take part in what was essentially a personal vendetta. Rather than go home immediately, though, he had wandered east, and found a Gorg Kingdom still going strong after all these centuries.

He smiled. The blossoms of springtime had affected Junior as well, and when he finally arrived home, he waited only to participate in the burial of a being who had sought a magical connection all his life, which had taught him of his true legacy, after which Junior sprung the news that he had found a wonderfully cheerful young Gorg princess, who loved decorating. They planned to date each other for a couple of decades, but his mother (and hers) had already begun the wedding preparations.

He saw a flock of red-feathered birds fly across the sky, brighter now that the Universe was at peace.

He sighed, humming a cheerful tune to himself.

He felt whole … and content … for the first time in his entire life.

And outside the gazebo, a small seedling had appeared on a dirt mound, with tiny yellow leaves on a green stalk.

**Author's Note: Songs from Fraggle Rock, Elmo in Grouchland, Muppets Take Manhattan.**


End file.
